Five Years
by JamesLuver
Summary: The first five years of their marriage hadn't been easy, but Anna wouldn't change them for the world.
1. 1920

**A/N:** Exactly five years ago, as a thirteen year old kid, I finally took the plunge and signed up to this website. Over that time I've flirted with a few fandoms, and I like to think that I've improved at least a little since those cringey early days. Fanfiction has been a huge part of my life for the better part of eight years, and I do like to think that I've grown as a writer thanks to the opportunities that this website has given me to express myself in ways that I find difficult through original works.

And what better way to celebrate than to write a fanfic about our dear Anna and Mr. Bates? If anyone deserves some happiness in the future it's these two, and I thought that marking the first five years of their marriage might be a nice way to do that. Anyway, I'll shut up now. :P

**Disclaimer:** Five years on, and I still don't own anything that I write about. _Downton Abbey_ is most definitely included in this.

* * *

_Five Years_

_1. 1920_

They sat across from each other in a room crowded with other thieves and assaulters and murderers. The room stank of old sweat, and the men who were held captive here all had the same defeated look about their personas. It was somehow disconcerting to see, a row of empty eyes, life lost to despair, a mirror that no one could look into for long.

John, she was terrified to see, held that same air of utter hopelessness today. Sometimes he got like that on her visits – broody and wistful, despite his best efforts to give her his best on her too-short visits – but she had never seen him as despondent as he was today. All he'd offered her so far was a tight smile, and he had failed to respond to most of her self-conscious chatter about Downton's staff and owners. And when she'd lowered her voice with a soft smile to wish him a happy first anniversary for the following day, he'd flinched as though she'd hurled hateful abuse at him. It was bad enough seeing him the way he was – the weight loss that had thinned his face, the hair that had grown longer and was plastered unkemptly against his head, the dark stubble that made him almost unrecognisable to her – but to see this complete loss of faith was a stake straight through the heart.

Now she sat fidgeting with her gloves, wondering how to proceed from here. A cold awkwardness had settled over their shoulders like a cumbersome blanket, muffling out the rest of the world. John was failing to meet her eye, seemingly very interested in the questionable stain on the table in front of him.

They were wasting time, sitting like this. Anna had never failed to make her weekly visit to the prison (a testimony once again to Lord Grantham and his family's undying kindness), and those times always flew by, the hour that they were allowed seemingly nothing but mere seconds. In contrast to that, the rest of the week dragged by like a year until she was finally allowed to see him again. In all of their visits, they had never once argued, all too aware of how preciously short their time together was, preferring instead to spend the time focusing on the present and not on the past mistakes.

So why was he acting so distantly now?

Anna fought hard against the huge lump blocking her throat, desperately wishing that she could reach across the space between them and grasp his hands tightly within hers. His knuckles looked sore and angry, cracked open by the cold, and she could only imagine the pain that his leg had to be bringing him. If only they could be together as man and wife should be. She'd help soothe the pain.

Instead she had to make do with saying his name softly. "John."

No response, just the slump of his shoulders.

"John, look at me. Please."

A second's hesitation, then he raised his brown eyes to meet her blue. She offered him a weak smile, glad that he had at least responded to her this time. The shadow of his stubble made him look years older. Her heart clenched in her chest at the sight.

"That's better," she said, attempting to inject a business-like note into her voice. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

His gaze flickered, and she thought that he would close down again, perhaps even retreat from the table, leaving her desperately reaching towards his withdrawing back. Several tense seconds passed before his shoulders sagged further in defeat. Relief flooded her body for a short-lived moment.

"I've failed you," he said quietly, the chains on his handcuffs rattling as he pushed himself away from the table, as though the more distance he put between them, the less pain he was likely to inflict upon her.

Relief cooled into an icy dread. "John, don't be silly. Of course you haven't."

"I have," he said, and his voice was harsher than he'd intended. He watched her stiffen, and the familiar wave of self-loathing washed over him. His old friend.

She took a deep breath to keep her frayed nerves in check. "Let's not dampen the day with that sort of talk. And it's our wedding anniversary tomorrow. I want to be able to remember this visit as a happy one, not one spent in a state. So let's drop the subject. If you don't know how happy I am to be your wife by now…"

"But that's just it," he said, and his quiet resignation was infinitely worse than an explosion of his temper could ever be. "We'll have been man and wife for a whole year tomorrow, and look how that year has been spent."

Anna opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he cut across her. It was not often that he spoke so much – she was the chatty one, he was simply content to drink in her words as though they were the elixir of life, sitting quietly by. Now it seemed as though a dam had broken within him.

"Look at me, Anna. You're married to a convicted murderer –"

"– An innocent man –"

"– And you've had to spend the year subjected to gossip and judgement. You've had the strain of the trial and the turmoil of the sentence, and you've had to worry about me. I never wanted to burden you with any of my mistakes, but I've still pulled you into the middle of them all anyway. And I've not even been able to stand by you properly. I've been unable to comfort you when you've been upset, or hold you when you've been happy, or–" He stopped himself there with an ugly bark of laughter, and she thought some of the man that he'd been was shining through.

"John Bates," she told him firmly, wishing she could take his hands, "I want you to stop right there before I do something I might regret. Or do you want me to join you in there for assault? I'd claim to be knocking some sense into you, but I'm not sure if they'd believe me."

Her lame attempt at humour did the trick; the corners of Bates' mouth twitched weakly. Heartened by this, Anna dropped her voice, her tone urgent, willing him to understand.

"I don't want you to ever feel like that, you hear? I'm not a silly little girl. I know that this past year has been difficult. I know it's going to be difficult until you are released from here. But I can think back on every good moment we've shared, and everything's fine. Our wedding day was the best day of my life, and I'm proud to have you as my husband. And you may be in here, John, but I'm never really without you because I have your name. That gets me through the day."

A lump formed in Bates' throat as she spoke. Dear God, was he going to cry? It certainly seemed so; Anna, his beautiful _beautiful_ Anna, was blurring in front of his eyes.

"I don't deserve you," he told her thickly.

"Yes, you do," she replied. "And I'll prove it to you every day for the rest of our lives just as soon as you're let go."

He made a sound, something between a choked sob and a laugh, blinking rapidly to dispel the fear of tears. She pretended to be interested in the buttons on her gloves while he composed himself, letting him keep his male pride intact. She couldn't prevent the triumphant smile from creeping across her face, however. When she raised her head again, she found him staring at her intently. A little bit of the hopelessness had left his eyes, and she thanked God for that. He leaned in close again, and she knew that the most horrible part of the visit was finally over. Any minute now the guard would announce the visitation as finished, but Anna felt that she could live with it this time, knowing that she had managed to bolster his spirits. She didn't want to see him unhappy, not so close to their first anniversary.

"Time!" bellowed the guard. The flurry of activity began then, with the prisoners and visitors exchanging goodbyes. A few tears were shed here and there. Anna despised having to say goodbye to her husband, to watch him being dragged back to his cell with the rest of the murderers and thieves and assaulters. This time, however, she held her head high, smiling brightly at him. Reaching out for him as they got to their feet was out of the question, so she made do with wringing her hands together.

"I love you," he said over the din of the prisoners moving back towards the door they had come through. His tone was wistful.

"I love you too," she replied. "I love you so much."

"Bates!" one of the guards bellowed, cutting off anything else that the two of them might have wanted to exchange.

"Get going," Anna said with a tremulous smile. "I don't want you to get into trouble."

"It would be worth it for one extra minute with you," John replied, but began to turn away with a quirk of his lips. Anna watched him limp painfully across the room towards the guard who had shouted him. His gait was slow and clumsy. He could just about manage short distances without the aid of his cane, but even the strain of that took its toll on his injured leg, leaving his limp so bad that he looked almost one-sided when he walked. The guard would assist him the rest of the way back to his cell.

Anna turned to leave then, unable to bear seeing him struggling for a moment longer. Only when she was outside did she crumble, allowing the tears to scald her face and the sobs to block her throat.

* * *

**A/N:** I plan to update this once every two weeks, since I didn't actually manage to get all of the five years done for today. xD There's fluff in the future, though. I can wholeheartedly promise you that.


	2. 1921

**A/N:** I think people were expecting this to go a different way, but hopefully it won't disappoint. :)

There's fluff ahead. Who doesn't love fluff? And sex. I guess it pushes the T boundaries a fair bit, but I don't think it's bad enough to warrant being bumped up to M. Although that is coming from the person who was reared on hentai from a shockingly young age. Heh. Anyway, if you're not too fond of that, skip the second to last section.

* * *

_2. 1921_

"Anna, if you don't stop flannelling, you're going to break something."

Anna almost dropped the vase she was holding in trembling fingers and turned towards the woman who had gently admonished her. "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Hughes, but I can't help it."

Mrs. Hughes smiled understandingly at her, moving closer to take the vase away before any real damage could be done. "I know you can't, my girl. But Mr. Bates will be here soon. If you over-excite yourself now, you'll miss his homecoming."

The housekeeper's tender warning did nothing to stop the adrenaline from pumping energetically through Anna's veins. Still, she dipped her head to hide the broad grin which was threatening to overtake her entire face.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," she intoned, knowing that the older woman could read through the attempted neutrality in her voice as well as she could sniff out below-standard behaviour in her younger charges.

Mrs. Hughes simply smiled, knowing it was pointless to admonish the head housemaid and settled instead for patting her gently on the back and leaving her to her excitement in peace. It was good to see the young woman with a smile on her face again – an actual real one, not one of the false ones she usually plastered on her features for the sake of pretending that her spirits weren't at rock bottom – and she herself was full of relief that the whole nasty chapter could finally be put to rest. Mr. Bates was a good man, and it was high time that he and Anna found some of the happiness that they both deserved.

Anna spent the rest of the morning haphazardly finishing her duties. They weren't completed to the standard she usually strived for, but she couldn't bring herself to care today. Not when, after two years behind bars away from her, her husband was to be finally let out.

It had taken them a long time to get to this point. An agonising time of waiting and hoping, of diving into whatever she could in order to aid Mr. Murray, Mr. Matthew and Lord Grantham solve the mystery of Vera's death. And now they had finally done it, and John would be free.

Free and about to arrive home at any moment.

When she had heard that John was to be emancipated, after all this time, she'd cried tears of joy. On her last visit to him before his release date, he'd seemed to have a new lease of life. Hope had glowed in his eyes, and he had spoken more than she'd ever known him to before. He had been sitting straight and tall, as though his burdens had finally been banished from his life. It had made her heart swell in her chest to see him so animated. Perhaps it was a sign that they could finally live the life they had longed for.

"Anna?"

Anna's head snapped up at once. Mrs. Hughes was back. The housekeeper was grinning widely. Anna thought she detected a shimmering in her eyes.

"Mr. Carson's just received word that they left the station a while ago. He'll be home any minute now."

Home. He'd be home.

Without a second thought, she darted out of the drawing room, passed Mrs. Hughes, ignoring the older woman's cry of surprise as she almost knocked her flying, clattering across the hall towards the front door. At the noise, heads popped out of several rooms, curious maids and hall boys watching Anna's progress towards the front. Somewhere in the background she could Mrs. Hughes calling after her, but it paled into insignificance with the pounding of her blood in her ears.

And then she was outdoors. To her surprise, Lady Mary, Lady Edith and Lady Grantham were standing outside the door along with the rest of the most notable staff, watching as the motor drew up outside the abbey, and Anna's heart lurched with excitement. She hadn't been expecting them to arrive so soon. Lady Mary turned to give her a wide smile. Anna returned it, stopping short as Carson glanced at her with affection before stepping forward to open the door for Lord Grantham, who had insisted on accompanying the chauffer to the station to pick up his old friend. Anna was acutely aware of a presence behind her, but she daren't take her eyes off the motor, fearful that it would disappear; Mrs. Hughes sighed in affectionate exasperation, brushing her fingers over the maid's shoulders tenderly in support. Anna barely felt it.

Lord Grantham stepped out then, practically beaming. His eyes met Anna's for a second and he inclined his head toward her before moving in line towards his family, turning to watch his old comrade's return to Downton.

Anna's mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed hard. Tears of joy were filling up her eyes and she blinked them away rapidly, determined to not let anything mar the first view of her husband as a free man. The front of the motor finally opened. Her heart leapt.

His feet appeared first. His shoes, once shined to perfection, were now scuffed. His trousers were rumpled as though they'd been left to rot in a ball for the last two years. The time he had spent in prison had obviously dishevelled him. Anna didn't care. She was just thankful that he was safe.

The rest of him finally emerged from the motor, and her breathing stopped. His face was thin, much thinner than she'd ever seen it, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in all those months of his imprisonment. The sunny daylight of Downton threw up the imperfections that prison had wreaked upon him in a much harsher way compared to the dull grey light of hopelessness that prison offered them. He took his first faltering steps towards her. They were heavy and stilted. Although his cane had been returned, his limp was still much worse than it ever had been. He seemed to be relying heavily on it for support. His clothes were rather ill-fitting, not quite suiting his frame now that he'd lost weight. None of that mattered, not in the slightest. His eyes met hers, and the broadest grin she'd ever seen broke out across his face. In that split second, he was transformed.

Before anyone could speak, she'd taken her own first steps towards him. And then she was running, closing the short distance between them, uncaring of what the others would think of her behaviour. John barely had time to open his arms before she barrelled into his chest. Her forehead pressed urgently against him and she inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of shaving cream and aftershave and underlying sweat filling her senses. Her arms wrapped themselves around his middle, bringing them closer together. One of his hands snaked up to press her head more firmly against his chest whilst the other found her waist, just above the point of impropriety. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds – John had not lost the sense of the eyes of the house upon them – but to Anna it might have been hours. _This_ was how it was supposed to be. The tears of happiness that had been threatening to fall since the car pulled up finally began to plummet, and she buried herself more firmly in his chest. He had no idea how good it felt for her to be in his arms again. She'd been without his embrace for far too long now, and the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her body was enough to have fresh tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

John tenderly disentangled himself from his young wife's grasp, still smiling widely. She reciprocated the action with a laugh, reaching up to brush her tears away. He stopped her motion by catching her hand with his, using the other to complete the task she had been about to do herself. She closed her eyes at the sensation of his calloused fingers on her face, relishing his reverent touch.

"Hush," he said softly, exploring the path of her face. "Don't cry, Anna. I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, losing the ability to keep her emotions in check at the sound of his soft burr.

And then the spell was broken as Lord Grantham stepped forward to formally welcome John home. Anna pulled away and stepped to his side so that everyone could see him properly, bringing a hand up to wipe away the last vestiges of her tears, and then she laced the fingers of her right hand with his left firmly, vowing silently that she was not going to let go of him until she absolutely had to. His fingers squeezed hers reassuringly as Lord Grantham clapped him heartily on the back and led them forward to be greeted by the rest of the house. John inclined his head respectfully towards Lady Grantham and the two young women and they smiled at him, reaching out to shake his hand as Anna grasped his cane to allow him to reciprocate the action. Lady Mary in particular lingered in his grasp, warmth glowing in her eyes, glad to see Anna, her friend despite class differences, looking so overjoyed once again after the trials and tribulations the last two years had brought to her, especially since they were down to her in part. It was also good to see Bates looking so well. He had always been a man who kept his emotions in check with a rigid stoicism, but there was no masking the sheer euphoria in his countenance today. Mary was pleased about that.

Carson was next in line, and he grasped John's hand firmly, his lips twitching in what John assumed was a smile. He grinned back as the butler's free hand came up to pat him on the shoulder. Mrs. Hughes followed, eyes suspiciously watery, clasping his hand between both of hers, murmuring that it was good to have him home in a voice that wavered.

"It's good to be home," John replied, feeling Anna squeeze his fingers. "Better than you can possibly imagine."

And then he was face-to-face with Thomas. The youth eyed him for a moment and, feeling cautious, John extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Thomas took it. No words were exchanged, but a silent understanding passed between them. They would never be friends, but for the moment they were at peace. The same ritual passed with Miss O'Brien.

Finally, John reached the end of the line, amid well wishes and even the odd tear. Anna had not loosened her grip once and she was beaming so widely that it was a wonder that her face didn't split. Tears were shining in her eyes once more. Lord Grantham stepped forward again then, declaring that after dinner the entire staff were to have the evening off in order to celebrate Bates' homecoming. There would also be another servants' ball to take place upstairs the following evening, allowing both family and staff to welcome him home properly. John opened his mouth to protest, hating the thought of being centre of attention, but Anna's radiant face, a sight so beautiful that it had to have been carved by angels, stopped him. The celebration would be as much about the start of the future for him and for Anna as it would be about his freedom, and if the celebrations would make her happy, then he would gladly bear them.

"Thomas will continue his duties for the next two days until you've had the chance to settle back in," Lord Grantham told him as the servants were dismissed back to their posts and the ladies disappeared inside. "You'll resume them after that. We've discussed the matter between us and he's happy to take the position of Mr. Matthew's valet while he stays here now that Mr. Molesley's left to look after his father. Anna, you take these two days off too. The two of you should spend some time together."

"That's kind, milord," she replied.

"My lord, I don't know how to thank you –" John started, but Lord Grantham stopped him there.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Bates. God knows I owe you a great deal."

John paused, unsure of how to continue, and Lord Grantham took that as his cue to leave the valet and the housemaid alone. Anna began to tug him away from the front entrance, towards the grounds.

"Where are you taking me?" he chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips as she led him away. "We're going to be missed, you know."

Anna's eyes were dancing with mischief. "No, we're not. We've both been given two days' leave and I fully intend to have you to myself for a while."

"What, you don't want to share me with Mrs. Hughes?" said John in mock disappointment, and she stopped his smirk with her mouth – their first kiss since that awful day when she'd thought she was saying goodbye to him for the last time and he'd asked to take a taste of her to the gallows. She sighed in pure contentment, melting into his embrace as he held her tightly against him, his tongue brushing against her bottom lip to coax her to open up to him. She obliged willingly, digging her fingernails into his shoulders as she rose up on her tiptoes to even the height difference between them once again. His tongue met hers, and a shiver of longing set her nerves alight as his hands began to gently rub at her sides. She broke away from him then with a whimper, panting harshly as she slid her hands to his waistcoat, determined to rid him of the troublesome material so that she could finally get her hands on the expanse of skin that was just tantalisingly out of her reach. However, before she had accomplished more than a couple of hastily opened buttons, he gently stilled her movements.

"Anna…" he murmured, and his voice was hoarse. "We can't."

"Why not?" she panted in reply, reaching up to press her lips against his cheek.

He swallowed hard, clearly roused by the way her body was moving against him. "Because I want it to be special for you."

"It will be," she promised, fingers trailing perilously low.

It took every ounce of willpower to stifle the groan he could feel bubbling in his throat. "No, I don't want it to be a hurried fumble in the gardens like it's some sordid affair. We're married. We have nothing to be ashamed of. I want us to be able to take our time without the confines of propriety and everyone watching us."

His words struck home, and her hands stilled. When she looked up at him, her face was flushed. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "You're right."

He bent down, kissed her sweetly. "Never apologise to me. Especially not for that. It's not that I don't want to. I do. But I don't want to rush it."

Anna took her time in redoing the buttons she'd unfastened, studying the pattern on his waistcoat rather than face her husband's gaze. "We should be getting back. People will start to wonder where we are."

John nodded in agreement, lacing his fingers through hers. Anna had been right before; no one would be wondering where they were, of course. After such a lengthy separation they were entitled to their time alone. But it eased the tension between them. They began to walk back towards the house together. Before they reached the servants' entrance, however, he stopped them. Casting a surreptitious glance around to make sure that they were completely alone, he bent in to her, his lips brushing her ear enticingly, eager to cheer her up. "Let's see if we can escape together tonight."  
She pulled away when she felt his teeth grazing her earlobe. Her knees were on the verge of collapsing again. "Escaping together? What happened to not wanting it to seem like a sordid affair, Mr. Bates? And how do you know that the staff aren't organising a room for us right this very moment?"

"Well," he said, "I'm not sure how comfortable either of us would be, knowing that the entire staff would know what we'd be doing in there."

That was certainly something to give pause. Anna could already see Thomas and O'Brien sharing smirks. She certainly didn't want to be making love to her husband with half of her mind balking at the thought of everyone knowing their business.

"All right, then," she said decisively. "We'll sneak off together later on when they think we've gone to our own rooms. His lordship has been sorting out a cottage for us anyway. It should be done by the weekend. We'll just tell them that we're happy to use our own rooms while we're living at the house. But Mr. Bates, I didn't think you'd be willing to break social rules so soon after coming out of prison. It's quite shocking."

His eyes crinkled as he grinned cheekily at her. It was an expression that she decided then and there that she adored. "I fear that prison has turned me into something of a rogue."

The idea of _her_ Mr. Bates ever being a rogue was laughable, but she playfully indulged him, loving the easy chemistry that had developed between them. "Goodness me, and here I was thinking I'd married a perfect gentleman."

"I'm sorry to have proved a disappointment."

"Perhaps I'll grow accustomed to it," she replied, raising his hand and kissing his rough knuckles. "Perhaps your roguish nature will win me over later on tonight."

"Perhaps it will," he said, kissing her a final time before they stepped inside the servants' entrance to the sound of Mrs. Patmore's bellowing.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Relieved from her duties, Anna was able to spend the time sitting by her husband's side in the servants' hall, clasping his hand in hers and brushing against him whenever she could, reassuring herself that he really was real and not simply a figment of her imagination. They never stopped talking, sometimes intimate conversations about what the future would bring, other times animated discussions about trivial matters with the other members of staff who wandered in to chat between their chores. At one point Mrs. Hughes entered, announcing to Anna that Lady Mary needed to see her urgently, and when the housemaid returned twenty minutes later she was smiling broadly, her eyes dancing with the joys of secrecy.

Seeing that they were alone for a snatched moment, John lowered his voice. "What's got you smiling so much, love? Surely Lady Mary hasn't made you happier than your old husband has?"

She thought about teasing him, but decided she couldn't put _herself_ through that. If she didn't share her news with him immediately, she was sure that she'd burst. So, after checking that they weren't going to be interrupted for the moment, she bent in so that her breath tickled his ear and slid her hand provocatively up his thigh. She revelled in his sharp intake of breath.

"It seems as though Lady Mary read our minds earlier," she whispered. "She's putting her best cunning skill to good use and lending us the room we used on our wedding night so that we can 'reacquaint ourselves' with each other again."

At her words, John's eyes widened. Emboldened by this and the promise of what was to come, Anna smirked at him, sliding her palm further between his legs. He had to bite his lip to stifle a groan.

"I hope you'll be able to put your roguish skills to the test," she continued, tracing lazy circles over the quickly emerging bulge in the front of his trousers. "They're something I'm so looking forward to having _thrust_ upon me…"

"Anna?" The sound of Mrs. Hughes' thick Scottish brogue penetrating their safe little world had both Anna and John jumping guiltily and moving as far away from each other as possible.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?" The head housemaid made a great show of fumbling for her cup of tea, hands trembling and heart pounding at how close they'd come to being caught unaware in a compromising position.

"Lady Mary again, I'm afraid," the older woman sighed, stepping into the servants' hall, much to the duo's alarm. "She's never going to change."

Anna deigned not to answer, feeling a blush stain her cheeks, knowing what Lady Mary probably wanted to discuss with her. John watched her leave, his own cheeks flushed pink. Mrs. Hughes took her usual place on his left, and he instinctively dragged his chair more firmly under the table, closing his eyes as he willed his body back under his control once again.

"Mr. Bates?" Mrs. Hughes' voice was full of concern as she noticed his expression. "Are you quite well? You look as though you might be running a temperature."

"I'm quite all right, thank you," he replied, just a tad too quickly. Mrs. Hughes raised an eyebrow but dropped the subject, knowing how stubborn the valet could be when something was bothering him, and instead began to discuss the cottage that the pair were going to move into at the end of the week. John answered as politely and interestedly as possible but he was distracted, thinking of miles of creamy skin and tumbling hair like spun gold and a soft bed that would envelope them both as they pressed against each other.

He sincerely hoped that he wouldn't have to get up any time soon.

* * *

The night drew upon them raucously, and amid the celebrations the pair announced that they were retiring for the night, rejecting rather tipsy offers of the use of one of the bedrooms not far from the attics and cringing at Mrs. Patmore's loud announcement that they'd better not try sneaking through the door to one another's bedrooms because the beds creaked and everyone would know. Quite how the drunk cook had come across this information was anyone's guess.

After escaping the party, they parted on the stairs with secret smiles. They spent the following time in their respective rooms, readying themselves for the night ahead of them, waiting for the rest of the staff to follow their lead now that the honours of the celebrations had departed, biding their time until the house finally fell blissfully silent.

When it had, they crept through the darkness to the room that they'd shared on their wedding night. Anna arrived before her husband and spent the time waiting for him lighting candles to cloak the room in an intimate half-darkness. She shivered in the cold – the nightgown that Lady Mary had lent her was certainly not built for warmth, but the maid did not want to spend too much time thinking about how it might have been used to entice Mr. Matthew – and studied herself in the mirror, admiring the way that the thin fabric flaunted her figure. Mr. Bates would be pleased.

When John finally arrived, he found his wife reclining on the bed with the neck of her nightgown hanging half down her shoulder and her gaze hot on him, eyes half-lidded with desire. He swallowed hard, dropping his things to the floor as though he'd forgotten their existence and slowly limping towards the bed. Anna sat up as he reached her, extending her arms towards him. He cupped her face reverently between his hands, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. Her breath quickened.

"Anna," he breathed, leaning in to steal a taste. He pulled back before she could deepen it, moving his lips to her cheek. "You're so beautiful."

She flushed with pleasure at his compliment, pulling him back with her onto the bed. He followed obediently, hunkering on all fours over her, relishing the feel of her against him.

Kisses hotter than fire were bestowed upon skin. Their night things were strewn across the floor in their haste to touch each other (Anna jokingly lamenting that she hadn't been able to wear the provocative nightgown longer – wearing it had consequently made her feel much more elegant, even if it did swamp her because she was a great deal shorter than Lady Mary was), and finally there was nothing stopping them from touching each other the way that they had been burning to all day.

The bed didn't creak, either.

They were both eager to finally be together as man and wife after such a painful separation, but John was determined not to rush it. Not this time. He was certain that at some point the heat and passion would drive them to fumble desperately with each other. Tonight was about drawing things out, rejoicing in each other's presence. There was no time to be shy, even if it was only the second time that they had been together like this. There was too much desire to reunite for those emotions to take the forefront.

And draw it out he did. His fingers sought out her shoulders while his lips teased the sensitive spot behind her ear, then trailed lower to give her breasts some much needed attention. His mouth soon followed, tasting her skin as he went. Her gasps were music to his ears and he felt himself reacting to her, his own groans of need rumbling in his throat. Her fingers threaded through his hair and pressed him more firmly against her, her body trembling with barely suppressed longing. When he came up, he kissed her firmly, open-mouthed, unashamed. Anna pressed her palm flat against his chest, loving the feel of the dark hairs beneath her fingers and the thud of his heartbeat against her fingertips, her tongue sliding underneath his as he gently took possession of her mouth. His fingers continued to slide down her body, brushing against her hips and coming to a rest at the top of her thighs. Then, with only the slightest of hesitations, he gently parted her legs, giving him better access to her. She watched, enraptured, as his fingers moved in, dipping lower. The sensations that overcame her made her whimper and clutch at his shoulders, trusting him to help her through the onslaught of emotions that she had not felt for two long years. John laid another kiss on her cheek before turning his attention fully to his mission. His fingers found a natural rhythm within her, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, seeking out the places which affected her the most by the increased intensity of her cries. She was wet and warm, and the combination made him quiver with desire as he pushed her towards her end. She clung to him through it all, fingernails digging into his skin and hips rising to meet his movements, begging him to _please_ not stop.

He felt her end approaching, in the way that he could feel the muscles in her body tightening with tension, in the way that the rush of soaking heat enveloped him. He applied the last bit of pressure _just so_…and she was completely undone in his arms, crying out sharply and throwing her head back, her blonde hair tumbling messily down and a thin sheen of sweat delicately clothing her body. John held her close as she collapsed backwards, ignoring the growing urgency of needing his own fulfilment in favour of ensuring that Anna was comfortable, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she recuperated. At last she'd recovered her senses enough to turn to him, her own hand drifting lower. He sucked in a breath.

"I think it's time for me to partake in my wifely duties now," she said, and her voice was still thick and heavy with want. "Would you like that, Mr. Bates?"

He could only nod dumbly as her little fingers, quick and eager, took ahold of him and guided him down. His mind fuzzed pleasantly as he gave himself over to her completely, revelling in the most perfect union between man and wife that there was.

* * *

Afterwards, Anna lay with her head propped on John's chest, the rest of her body moulded bonelessly against his as she listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat in her ear. His left arm held her close to him, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her ribs.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, turning to press a kiss against the underside of his throat. "You look a million miles away. Come back to this bed right now, or I might have to try for divorce on grounds of neglect."

He chuckled at her teasing. The sound reverberated in his chest. She smiled. Every night from now on was going to be like this. She couldn't wait. But John still hadn't answered her, so she shifted so that she was hovering over him, raising her eyebrows quizzically. She recognised the look on his face. It was that defeated expression, the one he always wore when he was blaming himself for something. Usually something that wasn't his fault.

"Well?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment.

"I didn't get you an anniversary present," he replied wistfully at last. "I wanted to give you something that showed you how much you mean to me. I had it planned that I would visit Ripon before coming home to get you something to make up for the fact that I couldn't get you anything last year, but I didn't find the time before I came back here."

"That's what's worrying you?" she said, and her exasperated tone of voice made him meet her eye. "Now you're just being silly. Neither of us knew you'd be getting out so soon after our anniversary. But that was three weeks ago now. And, in case you haven't noticed, I didn't manage to get you anything, either. And are you cross about that?"

"Of course not!" he answered vehemently, reaching up to tuck a loose blonde strand behind her ear.

"Exactly," she said, satisfied that her point had been proven. "And neither am I. Having you home here with me is much more than I could ever want. That's all that matters to me."

She bent down to press her lips against his and he smiled, doubts put to rest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, basking in the feel of her bare skin pressed against his after such a long and painful absence. As his mouth left hers to tease at her throat, he felt her fingers slide into his hair, heard her gasp above him.

"Having you home is the best anniversary present of all."

* * *

**A/N:** Same policy as last time: the next chapter should be up in a couple of weeks' time.


	3. 1922

**A/N:** I'd hoped to have had this one up for a couple of weeks now. Unfortunately, I've actually had so many problems with this chapter. No matter what, it just doesn't sit right with me. I've written it. I've re-written it. And I've re-written the re-write. So now I've just had to leave it as it is.

Your thoughts would be appreciated here.

* * *

_3. 1922_

Anna groaned despairingly when she felt lips at the side of her neck, warm arms gently squeezing her in a loving embrace as she was brought back to the conscious world. John couldn't help but grin at the disagreeable sound that emerged from her throat.

"Mrs. Bates," he cooed in her ear as she attempted to pull out of his embrace so that she could throw the covers over her head in a bid to avoid him, "pretending I'm not here isn't going to make me disappear."

Another unintelligible grunt from the midst of their sheets, and John took it upon himself to playfully pull them away from her, exposing her body to the morning cold of the room. She shrieked in response as the air bit into her skin, fingers at once reaching out to yank the sheets back. John smirked and held fast, taking advantage of his superior strength to keep the sheets away from her. Anna was a vision in the mornings, even if she did have an abhorrent objection to early starts, and now was no exception. He enjoyed the sight of her naked body as she reached over to tug the sheets back, approving of the way that the pale sunlight accentuated her flawless skin. Finally, she succeeded in burrowing herself between the sheets again as his grip slackened, distracted by the way her rosy nipples peaked in the cold, pressing her chilled body against her husband's as punishment. He protested weakly as the cold seeped into his bones, but seemed unable to resist pulling her into his arms and showering her face in kisses. She pushed at his shoulders to keep him at bay.

"Mr. Bates," she said accusingly, "wasn't the reason for you waking me up to do with the fact that we're required at work soon?"

John was smirking cheekily at her, dipping his head to nuzzle at the shell of her ear. "Well, my love, it appears as if I've woken you early enough for us to enjoy a little leisure time as man and wife."

"You mean you woke me up when we don't have to get out of bed yet?"

"I'll make it up to you."

"And what if I want to go back to sleep until we have to get up?" She injected enough teasing into her expression to let him know that she was joking, tilting her head to the side to give him better access to the sensitive spot on her neck.

"Then I would be a perfect gentleman and let you." There was nothing at all gentlemanly about the way that his hand had found its way between her thighs. "Do you want me to stop?"

His fingers were seeking out the places that affected her the most, and an involuntary gasp escaping her lips. His eyebrow was raised as though he'd just asked her if she agreed that the weather would be warm.

"I think you know the answer to that," she groaned, shifting to allow him to stroke his fingers more deftly over her.

"You're right," he said, and the wickedness of his smirk should have prepared her for his next action as he promptly pulled his hand away from her and made to reach for his gown. "I'll let you rest a little longer."

Anna's arms were wrapped around his middle in an instant, her breasts pressed against his back as she knelt behind him. "Mr. Bates, what a cruel trick to play on your poor wife."

John feigned innocence as he turned his head. "I'm merely ensuring that you're getting enough rest, love. I promised to attend to your needs on the day we married and I intend to leave you to get the sleep that you require."

She was already pulling him backwards amongst the warm sheets, her hands sliding to his hips as he obliged. "And what about attending to my other needs?" Her hand boldly brushed lower, and he sucked in a breath. "Are you going to take care of those first?"

"I suppose I'd be seen as a bad husband if I didn't," he relented huskily, closing his eyes at her ministrations. He almost moaned when she bit his shoulder gently. When she flicked her tongue over the spot where she'd nipped him, he couldn't resist turning in her arms and pressing his body flush against hers. She grinned like a Cheshire cat at her achievement, loving the delicious feel of his weight against her.

He brushed an errant lock of hair from her face, bending in to kiss her. "Happy anniversary, darling."

She echoed him as he shifted above her, and those were the last coherent words that they spoke for a while.

* * *

In the end, despite their best efforts, John and Anna were late for work. Feeling flustered, they clattered into the servants' hall to the bemused stares of the rest of the staff.

"No one's rung yet, have they?" Anna panted as she placed her hat on the shelf just outside the door and shrugged her coat off quickly.

"Not yet, no," was Mrs. Hughes' amused reply. "What happened? You're never usually late."

"Misplaced the house key," supplied Bates.

"Woke up late," said Anna at the same time. Both blinked at each other before blushing and quickly turning away.

"My my," the housekeeper said drily amid smirks from many of the others, "you _have_ had an eventful morning."

"That's one word for it," Thomas exhaled in a cloud of smoke to a sneering O'Brien.

"Thank you, Thomas," said Carson, looking pained at the train of conversation, and Anna and John flushed further.

Thankfully, Lord Grantham's bell rang at that moment, ending any awkwardness that might have sprung forth. John made a quick exit, not daring to spare his wife another glance, and Anna got to work on her chores while she waited for Lady Mary to ring, relieved to be away from the gossip that was surely taking place. Although the eldest Crawley daughter was married now, she was still living at home; Mr. Matthew had decided to move into Downton rather than upheave Lady Mary to Crawley House, stating that while it was a lovely house, there was more room for them at the abbey and he didn't think his wife would want to be squashed in with his mother. Lord and Lady Grantham had indulged their wishes, of course, as they always did when it came to their eldest daughter and the heir. Privately, Anna was thankful for it. It meant that she could still work in close quarters with her husband whilst retaining the same duties that she had done for Lady Mary for as long as she could remember; Lady Mary had made it clear that she wished for Anna to remain as her lady's maid no matter where they lived. This would mean that she'd see her husband even less if the future earl and countess chose to move out of Downton Abbey.

The morning passed quickly enough, and soon luncheon was upon them. Anna and John sat beside each other as they always did, determinedly avoiding each other's gaze. The other members of staff were still smirking at them. Anna hoped that they would forget it quickly – she did not like their professionalism being questioned; they had always been models of decorum. Even in the early days after John's release, when it had been difficult for them to keep their hands off of each other, they had forced themselves to keep their working relationship absolutely professional. Up until now, this had never once been questioned. Anna did not like being under such scrutiny. She could console herself that at least they hadn't been caught in a compromising position at work, and never would be. And gossip tended to move along quickly in a house such as Downton. Anna hoped fervently that something else would happen which would divert the attention away from them entirely. Sitting in silence on their anniversary certainly hadn't been something that she had been anticipating. She longed for the end of the day when she could to be alone with her husband, where they wouldn't feel as though the eyes of the world were upon them.

When lunch had been cleared, Anna set to work on some mending that she had been putting off. The servants' hall was relatively quiet; only Miss O'Brien sat in there with her, painstakingly stitching a missing button onto one of her ladyship's evening gowns.

Anna kept her head down, studiously avoiding the older woman's gaze as she worked. She knew that O'Brien would not dare mention their tardiness to her in case it ever got back to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, whose iron-clad way of keeping order below stairs ensured that no one ever really overstepped the mark, but the last thing that she wanted to see was O'Brien's knowing smirk. She could only imagine what satisfaction the lady's maid was getting from seeing her squirm – no doubt it was giving her some vindictive pleasure to know that Anna wasn't a complete saint, and that Mr. Bates wasn't as perfect as everyone seemed to think, despite his tarnished past.

At that moment, she discerned the familiar tap of a cane on the flagstones. O'Brien glanced up, then back down quickly, pretending to be absorbed in her work, as John entered the room. He smiled a little awkwardly, glancing around and realising that he wasn't alone with Anna.

"May I have a word?" he asked her, and she couldn't help but smile at his bashful tone.

"Don't mind me," said O'Brien as Anna started to stand.

Anna rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that the lady's maid had the habit of spreading any gossip she heard, and she and Thomas combined were a formidable force. No, Anna was not comfortable speaking intimately with John in front of O'Brien. And, judging by the look on his face, neither was he. Their business would be round the house in five minutes.

"Privately," he said meaningfully, limping towards them. She knew where he'd want them to speak: the courtyard. It was their special place, the place where they'd kissed for the first time, the place where he'd first told her that he loved her, the place where he'd made her the happiest person alive with his unconventional proposal, the place where he'd shattered her heart like feeble glass when he'd left her behind with nothing, the place where they'd tentatively mended each other's broken feelings. It always stank of cigarettes and was cluttered with crates and other rubbish that was not fit for the house, but it was _theirs_.

Once outside, John took her hand and led her as far away from the back door as possible, making sure that they were still in sight in case O'Brien should choose to poke her nose in, as she frequently chose to do – he would not have her telling everyone that they'd obviously disappeared in order to partake in more scandalous behaviour.

"What is it?" Anna asked him once she was sure that no one would be able to hear them. Now that she was alone with him, she felt the easiness that she usually felt around him slowly creeping back. He grinned at her, and she could tell that he felt the same.

"I was speaking to Lord Grantham earlier," he told her, squeezing her hand gently. "He remembered that today was our wedding anniversary. And you know what he's like. He insisted that we finish early so that we can enjoy our evening together. Once we've dressed them for dinner, we're free to leave. I did want to surprise you later by taking you out for dinner, but I didn't think we'd have the time before we were needed to dress them for bed. But his lordship says Mr. Carson will take care of him and Mrs. Hughes will see to Lady Mary so Miss O'Brien can't complain about the extra workload."

Anna's eyes had widened comically. "Oh, John, are you sure they don't mind?"

John chuckled. "I doubt his lordship would have offered if he minded. But now this gives us time to get home and change before I treat my beautiful wife to dinner on our anniversary."

She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but thought they'd compromised their professionalism enough today, so she settled instead for smiling brightly at him. "How wonderful!"

He nodded in agreement, about to say more before Mrs. Hughes interrupted them by saying that she needed Anna's help with sorting the linen cupboard.

"I'll see you later," John said, and Anna nodded, setting off towards Mrs. Hughes with a spring in her step. The housekeeper smiled knowingly at her. Although their romance had initially been a surprise to the household (the braver had exclaimed what everyone had secretly been thinking at the time – that Mr. Bates was far too old for the head housemaid), it had soon become apparent that the two adored each other. There could be no sneering at that, and Mrs. Hughes had always had a soft spot for the two of them. She found the whole thing endearing now. Despite the fact that the valet and the housemaid tried to maintain a sense of propriety at all times during their time at work, it was obvious to anyone who looked at them that that they were very much in love and content. It was clear in the way that they always sat side by side, hands brushing at all opportunities, wearing smiles that brightened whenever they glanced at each other. It was evident in the way that their voices softened to intimate whispers whenever they thought they were alone. And it was apparent in the way that they always departed the house holding hands, Anna matching her husband's every stilted step unfalteringly. If anyone deserved happiness after everything that they had endured, it was those two.

"Thank you for letting us go early," Anna said as they walked along together. "We both appreciate it so much."

"It's no trouble," replied Mrs. Hughes, and she meant it. "After all, it wouldn't be much of a wedding anniversary for you if you couldn't celebrate it, would it?"

* * *

"Anna, you must be almost ready now," John's amused tone tore her from her inspection of herself in the mirror. Squinting critically, she adjusted her hat one more time and turned to face him.

"Well, isn't a wife supposed to look nice for her husband?" she said teasingly, reaching up to straighten his tie.

"You'd look nice in anything," he told her. "Now can we please go? The pub will have closed before we make it to the village!"

"You can't rush perfection, John Bates," she replied, but followed him down the stairs. Glancing one last time into the old mirror by the door that Anna's parents had sent her as a gift for their new cottage, she went outside and waited while he locked up.

The walk to the village was peaceful. Anna and John held hands the entire way, laughing embarrassedly together as they recalled the faces of the servants as they'd burst into work late.

"You're a bad influence on me," Anna said. "I was always the model servant before you corrupted me."

"Rogue," he reminded her, throwing one of his delicious smirks in her direction. She felt the muscles in her stomach tighten, as they were prone to do whenever he looked at her like that.

"Hush, you," she said, smacking his shoulder playfully.

"That hurt, Anna," he said, pretending to be wounded. "You're so cruel to me. Why do I put up with this torment?"

God, she loved him when he was like that. This carefree attitude had taken a long time to surface within him. She had always known him to be reserved and quietly stoic, his moments of teasing brief and rare. But ever since his time spent in prison, John had become a different man. He bantered with her daily now that they were away from the confines of the house and he was able to speak freely with her, no longer a man tied to another woman. She liked seeing this side of his personality so often. His playfulness always ignited a frisson of heat low in her body, and she furtively glanced over her shoulder, wishing that they could forget about dinner and return home. Knowing that he wanted to treat her tonight, however, she kept her lascivious thoughts to herself. There would be plenty of time for that later, and it _would_ be nice for them to have an evening out, something they didn't usually do because money was tight and time away from work was even tighter. They sometimes went out for tea on their half days off, and Lord Grantham typically gave them a few days every year to do as they wished (they normally tried to get to the seaside for a change of scenery), but other than that, it was rare for them to venture much further than York.

Still, she couldn't resist leaning up to breathe huskily into his ear, "perhaps you secretly enjoy the pain." She nipped at his earlobe to prove her point, then settled back to enjoy the way his eyes darkened – his earlobes were a particular Achilles heel for him, she'd found.

Dinner was going to be a long affair.

* * *

In the end, they decided on the Grantham Arms; Downton village did not really have much to offer, so they were soon seated comfortably in a corner of the pub, steadily making their way through plates of pie and vegetables. They were far from being alone, but the sound of the men's raucous laughter over at the bar was simply muffled in the background; they only had eyes for each other, their world ensconced into the table that they shared. Frequently they found their hands brushing over their meal as they reached for their glasses, their fingers lingering as they gazed at each other heatedly, remembering their exchange from earlier. Anna found that she couldn't bolt down her meal quick enough, hastened by the glow in her husband's eyes, a glow that she could recognise anywhere now after almost a whole year of living by his side properly as his wife. He himself, however, seemed to be eating agonisingly slowly, chewing each mouthful carefully and swallowing leisurely. It cost her every inch of her self-restraint to sit demurely across from him, the picture of a good wife. Oh, if only the others in the room could read the thoughts in her head. She'd be sneered at and condemned and shunned by society. A lady wasn't supposed to have such sullied thoughts. Luckily, Mr. Bates was completely enthusiastic about those sullied thoughts, which certainly helped to fuel the passion in their lovemaking.

One side of his mouth quirked upwards as he regarded her watching him. "Can I help you with something, Mrs. Bates?"

She propped her chin on her hand and lowered her eyelids. "You might be able to, kind sir, although I'm not sure we can discuss such matters here."

John fumbled for his water, so suddenly and easily undone, the temperature in the room spiralling out of control. The look of subtle desire on his wife's face would never cease to affect him. Attention captured, she purposefully reached across the table to steal a crust of pie from his plate, and he watched enraptured as she brought it to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully, knowing she had him close to breaking point. When she placed her finger to her lips to lick off the gravy, he stood abruptly. She pretended to look at him in surprise. He motioned for her to stand.

"I think it's time that you and I went home," he said, and his growl sent shivers down her spine.

"Why?" she asked innocently, stretching; his eyes followed the line of her spine. "I was rather hoping that we might enjoy a walk around the village before we go back."

She could tell that he was fighting with himself to remain gentlemanly, but in the end his gentlemanly side won out: John Bates would never deny his wife her wishes.

"Of course. Shall we?" He offered her his arm. She took it. They made a stop at the bar to pay the bill, then stepped outside. The air was cold. It felt good against their flushed skin; John hoped that it would help to cool his ardour.

They began to walk down the street. The tap of John's cane echoed. Anna regretted her choice of teasing. It was as much torture for her as it was for him. She wanted to be at home, away from prying eyes, left quite insensible by the musk of their lovemaking and the feel of her husband's hands on her body. Not going for an unhurried stroll.

Swallowing her pride, she stopped them as he made to turn down the path towards the little park. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"I may have changed my mind about the walk," she said, staring at some point just above his shoulder. She didn't want to see the progression of that slow smirk of triumph crawling across his features.

"And why would that be?" he said. She could imagine it now, deliberately crossing his mouth. She felt a twinge low in her body.

She shrugged, tilting her head to the side. "I'm feeling a little tired, Mr. Bates."

"Tired?" Oh, how she wished she could kiss that smirk away. "Well, we can't have that."

She couldn't stop herself from flashing a grin of her own at him. It promised that sleeping was the last thing that she was intending to do once they got home.

* * *

They made it home in a heady rush of desire. Once the front door had clicked shut behind them, John grabbed Anna in a crushing embrace, his cane clattering from his hands as he wrapped her in his arms. Her mouth was hard against his own, her fingers making quick work of his jacket, pushing it from his broad shoulders so that she could cling to the clothed warmth of his shirt. His own hands were resting perilously low, and she moaned deep in her throat as he began to stroke them over the curve of her hip. Dragging her mouth away from his, she gently grabbed at his forearms and pulled them away from her.

"Not here," she said in answer to his confused expression. "Upstairs. Give me two minutes."

His eyes darkened as he nodded and watched her make her way up the staircase. She threw him a flirty glance over her shoulder as she disappeared from sight. John took a deep breath, attempting to control himself. Which was difficult when he could hear Anna moving about above his head, no doubt stripping herself of her clothing. He tried to content himself with bending down to collect his jacket and cane, desperately trying not to think of the way that her clothes would probably be hitting the floor. Hanging the jacket on one of the hooks by the front door, he decided that enough time had passed. Gripping his cane more firmly, he heaved himself upstairs. Pausing for one more moment, he took a deep breath and pushed open the bedroom door.

The room was bathed in warm candlelight. Clothes – Anna's clothes (he'd been right earlier) – were strewn around the room as though they'd been discarded in a great frenzy. Her dress was by the window. Her stockings were on the floor beside the bed. Her corset was tossed over the chair in the corner. And there she was, reclining casually in the middle of their bed, wearing nothing but her wedding ring. Her blonde hair tumbled down over her breasts to preserve some of her modesty, although her wicked smirk belied any play at innocence. John's breath caught in his throat. She was stunning. A true goddess. He knew she would never cease to take his breath away.

She spoke into the quiet of the room. "Come here, John."

It was as though she'd broken the spell that she had cast over him. At once he was upon her, growling his appreciation at the feel of her completely naked skin beneath his clothed body. Her hands made quick work of his waistcoat, flinging it across the room, where it fell to lie in a sorry state next to her undergarments.

His thoughts were hazy, and he gripped at her hips as she slipped from under him to rid him of his shirt, sliding her legs either side of his lap.

"Relax, Mr. Bates," she purred as she bent in to nuzzle at his chest hair, "I promise this won't hurt a bit."

* * *

Their harsh pants rent the air in two as they attempted to gather themselves after their exertion. Anna hadn't even managed to drag herself away from her husband's chest, where she had slid bonelessly after making love to him. Her weight against the length of his body was a comfortable one, and he sighed in pure contentment as his hand came up to lazily stroke her sticky back. She hummed a little, turning her head slightly so that she could press her lips over his heart.

"I love you," she heard him murmur, and she squeezed him lightly. She would never tire of hearing that declaration. After years of denying his feelings for her, it seemed that now he would not waste one opportunity where he could announce his love to the world. More often than not he would pant it into her ear as he made love to her; it was always enough to finish her.

"I love you too," she replied, then found the strength to sit up slightly. His eyes opened as she shifted, and he regarded her curiously as she reached across him to the little drawer that stood at her side of the bed.

"What are you doing, Anna?" he asked her quizzically, but she shushed him as she withdrew a bulky square package from below a pile of stockings.

"It wouldn't be an anniversary without gifts," she said in answer to his questioning look. A slow grin spread across his face at that.

"Quite right," he agreed, sliding her from her comfortable position atop him so that he could sit up too. Reaching across to his own bedside drawer, he pulled out a little box.

"Happy anniversary, my love," he said, pressing the package into her hands and a kiss against her mouth.

She grinned brightly at him, inquisitively shaking it before pulling the lid from the box. She gasped sharply, gently removing the necklace from its resting place. The pretty blue stone looked almost purple in the flickering candlelight.

"Oh, John, it's so beautiful," she said, then her tone turned accusing. "How much did it cost? You shouldn't have!"

John chuckled. "I saw it in Ripon about six months ago. I knew then that it would be perfect for you, so I started saving a bit of my wages every month in order to afford it."

"I'm afraid my gift can't compare to yours," Anna sighed as John took the necklace from her and fastened the clasp around her neck. It fell elegantly into the valley between her breasts, and she shivered as he rubbed a thumb over it.

"Your gift will be perfect," he reassured her, laying a kiss against her shoulder. He took the present in hand and slowly unwrapped the newspaper which had lovingly ben tied around it. Pulling the paper away, he was greeted with the sight of a heavy volume, embossed with golden letters and bound together with a handsome leather cover.

"Oh, Anna," he breathed, running his fingers over the spine. "It's perfect." He hadn't seen the entire Shakespeare collection since the days he'd spent living in London after his first stint in prison, when he had spent his time browsing the shelves in the local bookstore, breathing in the scent of new pages as a tonic to his alcohol abuse. He had coveted Shakespeare's entire collection for years, but had never found the time to purchase it for himself. It was as though Anna had read his mind.

She shifted uncomfortably, resting her head on his shoulder. "I thought we might read it together. We used to discuss books all the time before the war, and I've never really read Shakespeare. We could take it in turns."

John kissed her to show his appreciation, slipping his arm around her shoulder and drawing her closer to his side. "It would be an honour. I've never had a more perfect gift."

Anna grinned at him glowingly, clearly pleased. "I'm glad," she said simply.

He placed the volume carefully on the bedside cabinet. "We'll start it tomorrow," he decided.

"Perhaps there will be a few scenes we could re-enact," was her cheeky response, and he chuckled, pulling her back down into the comforting warmth of their sheets.

The last year of his life had been the happiest that John had ever known. With Anna permanently by his side, each day seemed brighter. He felt like he could tackle anything with her in his life. And he hoped that the years to come would prove as blissful as this last one had.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter is bugging me even more than this one is, but I'm hoping that it will be ready in about a month's time.


	4. 1923

**A/N:** If I hated the last chapter, I hate this one even more. I wanted to add some conflict in - after all, no garden is always rosy - but it's not turned out how I wanted it to. I can barely bear to look at it. But I'm completely worn out right now. So this is what it is - at least until I get back from my holiday and re-read it with my hands over my eyes.

As is seemingly becoming customary, there is a sex warning with this. It's safe until almost the end of the chapter. If you're not keen on that, you'll be able to figure out quite easily where to stop. ;) The last section is perfectly safe, though!

* * *

_4. 1923_

The sound of the birds cheeping outside the window slowly dragged John from the realms of sleep. With a weary groan, he rolled over, expecting to come into contact with the warm, milky skin of his wife as she lay curled up at his side. Instead he was met with cold sheets. Forcing his eyes open, he reluctantly sat up and surveyed the room, hoping to see her smiling as she pulled on her clothes.

Nothing. No Anna.

His heart sank.

So it seemed as though today was going to be one of _those_ days again.

They'd begun just a couple of months ago before, not long after the death of Anna's father, who had always been a reassuring pillar of strength in the family home. The funeral had taken its toll on his wife as she worried and mourned his passing, and John had been unable to reach her as she grieved; her decision to shut him out had rocked their comfortable relationship. He'd hoped that as time passed, Anna would return to her normal, mild tempered, sweet self. Unfortunately, she was still moody and waspish, with her moods changing like the wind; sometimes, he could barely keep up with her. They'd never really argued before, so the first stirrings of discontentment had shocked him to the core. John had tried to appease her, but her bad moods had left him feeling confused and scared. Because he had seen this change before. It was how the beginning of the end had started with Vera. They'd fallen out of their tentative companionship to row furiously with each other every night. The thought of it happening again frightened him. The last thing that he wanted was his relationship with Anna to go the same way, because he loved Anna more than he'd ever loved Vera. If it did, he didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't bear the thought of her growing to hate him.

Glancing at the clock, he cursed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had overslept. In all of his time in service at Downton, he had never once overslept. When he'd lived up at the big house, sleep had usually eluded him from the early hours of the morning, the biting pain in his knee enough to ensure that he never had the peace of mind to sleep. Even now, lying with Anna in his arms or by his side, her body a comforting, warm weight, he had trouble sleeping through the night. This sleeping solidly through the night was an unknown phenomenon.

But why hadn't Anna woken him when she'd risen?

He sighed, throwing the sheets back and searching for the gown he had discarded last night. He thought that he'd better get ready for work before making his way downstairs. If he was fast, he might just have time for a hasty slice of toast. Opening the bedroom door, his ears were assaulted by the sound of Anna clattering about in the kitchen. At least she hadn't left without him.

He washed rapidly at the little basin in the bathroom, then returned to the bedroom to quickly make himself presentable for work. Anna was still clanging about beneath his feet, and the growing volume of the slamming of cupboards indicated that her agitation was far from abating. Deciding he couldn't put it off any longer, John grabbed his jacket from the wardrobe and slung it over his arm, intending to throw it on just before he left. Taking ahold of his cane, he lumbered downstairs. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to compose himself before entering the kitchen.

Anna was standing at the sink when he entered tentatively, scowling fiercely at the poor tree in their tiny garden. At the sound of his entrance, she turned her head to regard him, and John inwardly braced himself for the assault that was sure to follow.

"Good of you to finally drag yourself out of bed," she snapped as she clashed her breakfast pots together in the sink.

He tried for a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, love. Why didn't you wake me?"

"I did," she retorted. "You just grunted and rolled over."

He walked towards her, slid his arms around her waist as she worked. "I'm sorry, Anna. Look, you go and finish getting ready, I'll finish up here."

"I might as well finish now I've done all this," she barked, pushing his arms away. She reached across the counter, thrust a cold plate under his nose.

"What's that?" He tried to keep his voice neutral. It smelled pungent.

"Porridge," she growled. "What else would it be?"

"It looks perfect," he said quickly, noting the dangerous flash in her eyes.

"Good," she hissed, then left the room.

John sighed despondently, sinking to the table. This didn't look good. And on their anniversary too. John heaved another sigh, dropping his head into his hands. He wondered if Anna had even remembered. It wouldn't surprise him if she hadn't – she'd been so out of sorts recently. And surely if she'd remembered then she would not be in such a foul mood. At least, he hoped she wouldn't. He'd been hoping that they'd be able to enjoy a nice, leisurely day together, perhaps stealing a few minutes together in the corridor at work to share secret kisses before returning home to exchange gifts and perhaps even make love.

But it seemed as though it wasn't to be.

* * *

The walk to Downton was tense. John offered Anna his arm but she refused it, stepping a few paces ahead of him. He gritted his teeth against the biting pain in his leg (it was stiffer today due to the extra strain he had been putting on it over the last few days) as he tried to keep up with her, silent to keep his wife pacified. She had barely spoken two words to him since her outburst in the kitchen. He hoped her bad mood would pass soon. Not all of them lasted all day. Sometimes she'd be subdued by the end of the working day and by the time that they returned home she was close to being in a state because of the way that she'd been. He couldn't count the number of times that she'd broken down and sobbed and apologised for her poor mood once they'd passed through the door. He'd always taken her into his arms and kissed her soundly, telling her it didn't matter, but in truth he was worried. He was worried about her, he was worried about _them_. Still, he didn't want to let on and cause her to get even more stressed. It wasn't as though their lives had changed dramatically. They still had many good days where they laughed and teased and fooled around as though they were young sweethearts. They still enjoyed many nights where they barely slept because they were too wrapped up in each other's bodies to care. It was natural for them to argue sometimes; healthy even. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

_Give her time,_ he told himself firmly. _She's still coming to terms with her father being dead. You were a mess when your mother died. She's entitled to grieve for as long as she needs, in whatever way she wants._

He hoped that he was right. And he was due to leave for London tomorrow with Lord Grantham, who was meeting up with some wartime friends. Perhaps she'd be feeling better for his return.

When they'd moved through the back door, Anna slipped away to begin her duties, and John moved towards the servants' hall morosely. There was already a flurry of activity inside, hall boys coming and going, maids grabbing bites to eat between tasks. Seeing that Lord Grantham was yet to ring for his services, John busied himself with making a cup of tea. He wondered if he could manage to sneak a bowl of whatever Mrs. Patmore had decided to make without anyone teasing Anna that she wasn't feeding him enough – he hadn't been able to stomach the porridge and had tipped it away, but hadn't had enough time to make himself something else. He didn't need Anna dogging him for not eating when she'd put so much effort into making it for him.

"You look a million miles away," said Mrs. Hughes as he distractedly stirred two sugars into his tea. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," John said automatically. The last thing he wanted was the rest of the staff gossiping about the rocky couple of months that they'd had and making it worse for them.

"You're quite sure?" the housekeeper said kindly. "I don't want to intrude, Mr. Bates, but if I can help you with anything…"

"You can't," he said with a smile. And then he paused. The housekeeper had always shown a certain fondness towards Anna. She'd told him that it was because Anna had been the maid that had caused her the least problems in her time in charge of the house, always willing to work hard and never complaining about her lot. The testimony to that, she'd said, was the fact that Anna had become one of the most senior members of staff in the household at such a young age. And, during his time in prison, Anna had frequently mentioned that Mrs. Hughes had shown her more support than she could ever have expected. Perhaps Anna would talk to Mrs. Hughes. She certainly wasn't communicating well with him. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes _could_ help.

John glanced around to ensure that the rest of the staff in the servants' hall were engrossed in their own conversations before lowering his voice. "That is to say, perhaps you could be of some assistance in one matter."

"Of course," said the housekeeper, sitting back in the seat that she had half-risen from. "What is it?"

He waited until Daisy had passed him before speaking. "It's Anna."

Mrs. Hughes' eyebrows knitted in concern as she dropped her own voice. "Anna?"

He nodded. "She's been acting strangely lately, ever since the funeral. I've been contributing it to the stress of that, but now I'm concerned that it might be more. She won't talk to me about it, so I was wondering if you might have a word with her."

The housekeeper nodded at once. "Of course I will. I'll do it this minute."

At that moment, Lord Grantham's bell began to ring, and John rose with a sigh. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Truly."

"It's no problem," she replied. "I'll report back to you as soon as I can."

With that promise, John took his leave.

* * *

Anna was hard at work dusting in the library. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her mind was fuzzy and her stomach was turning and she longed to lie down, even if it was only for a few minutes. The stress of the last two months was catching up with her more aggressively with every day that passed, and she didn't like it. She hadn't meant to shout at John earlier, but she'd barely slept all night, kept awake by his gentle snores and her own roiling stomach, and it was irritating that he didn't seem to notice that she wasn't coping.

Well, that was slightly unfair. There was no questioning his concern for her; yesterday he'd asked her if she was okay enough times to have her snapping at him for being overbearing.

Oh God, it was a wonder that he hadn't left her yet, what with the way that she'd been acting towards him lately. Hadn't he told her once that his relationship with Vera had been like this at one point? With the sniping and the bickering and the petty nit-picking; love trickling out of their lives like the sunlight on a darkening night? If she was on the verge of losing him – Christ, he must _hate_ her –

She hadn't even been aware of the fact that she'd started to sob until Mrs. Hughes' voice broke through her misery.

"Heavens, girl, what's the matter?" she cried, stepping into the room. The younger housemaid did not even attempt to mask the tears on her face as she wept openly, and Mrs. Hughes' concern grew as she pulled the young woman into her arms, much like she had on the night when Anna had talked about leaving for America if her husband was not reprieved. Mrs. Hughes said nothing as she waited for her to collect herself. Anna would not be able to talk in that state anyway.

Finally, Anna collected herself enough to pull back. She looked pale and drawn despite her freshly scalded cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as she pulled out a handkerchief and began to dab her eyes.

"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Hughes, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "Now, will you kindly tell me what on earth is going on?"

Anna took her time collecting herself, mortified now that the housekeeper had walked in on her at such a vulnerable time. She swallowed hard. She didn't want anyone to know that she feared losing her husband because of her inability to keep her temper in check.

"I'm just tired," she supplied, making a show of stowing her handkerchief away. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"And you're sure that's it?" Mrs. Hughes pressed. "Only I know funerals can be a harrowing time and there's no shame in admitting that."

"I'm still coming to terms with my dad being gone," she admitted. "But Mr. Bates has been a great comfort. He's helped to keep my spirits up."

"_Has_ he been a comfort?"

The question caught her off-guard. "Of course he has. Why wouldn't he have been?"

The housekeeper hesitated a moment, obviously attempting to find a way to formulate her next words. "Well, I think he's a little worried that you're shutting him out."

Anna's heart left her chest to pound in her stomach. She felt sick. "How do you know that? Is that what he told you?" So her fears weren't unfounded; John _was_ feeling as though she was neglecting him.

"Well, not in those words," she admitted. "But it's obvious that he's concerned about your wellbeing. He needs some reassurance from you."

Anna stared at her for a moment. Tears were still shining in her eyes. She looked oddly small and scared. Mrs. Hughes wasn't accustomed to seeing the younger woman looking like that, at least not since Mr. Bates had been released from prison. In fact, she'd positively been glowing over the last two years. No wonder Mr. Bates was so worried.

Anna had lowered her voice, glancing at the doorway to ensure that they were alone. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can," Mrs. Hughes said at once.

The housemaid hesitated for a moment longer. "I think I'm taking my stress out on Mr. Bates because I haven't been myself lately."

"Not yourself? What do you mean?"

"I've been feeling strange for a while now. I've been sick in the mornings for a few weeks now and I feel so tired all of the time but I haven't been resting properly. And I think it's made me lose my temper with John unreasonably. I didn't want to bother John with it because I know he'd worry and I didn't want him to."

Now Mrs. Hughes looked even more worried. "Oh, why didn't you say something to him? You know he's going to worry about you regardless."

Anna lowered her eyes. She twisted her fingers together. "I don't like to add to his burdens. He's had enough of those to last him for the rest of his life."

"We both know that he'd be more than happy to bear them. Don't shut him out because of that."

She shrugged a little helplessly. "John hasn't noticed the sickness, so I didn't want to tell him. And I've been coping with the tiredness and the stress."

"Except you haven't," Mrs. Hughes interrupted. "And I think you owe him the truth. He's very worried about you."

"He's going to London tomorrow with his lordship anyway," Anna interjected. "It might have cleared up by the time he gets back. He'd only worry the entire time that he was there and that wouldn't do anyone any good."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "He'll worry whether you tell him or not. So tell him, Anna. He'll feel better knowing. And you'll feel better telling him."

Anna sighed, wiping her hands distractedly on her apron. "Really, Mrs. Hughes, I appreciate you trying to help –"

"We'll go and see Dr. Clarkson," Mrs. Hughes interrupted firmly. "If he tells you that there's nothing wrong with you, then we'll say nothing more about it and you don't have to mention it to Mr. Bates. If he tells you that you _are_ unwell, then you'll tell him regardless of him going to London or not. It's not normal to be nauseas all of the time, Anna. If you tell him, then at least his mind will be a little easier knowing that you'll be in good hands when you move back into your old room this week, because he'll know that someone will always be around to help if you need it."

"All right," relented Anna finally.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Good. Have you nearly finished here?"

The housemaid nodded.

"Then grab your coat. I'll send Lily to finish the rest of your tasks and I'll let Mr. Carson know that we're just running a couple of errands. I'm supposed to be reporting back to Mr. Bates, but that can wait until we've got you down to see Dr. Clarkson."

Anna nodded, unable to argue. Mrs. Hughes left to find Mr. Carson, closing the door behind her, leaving Anna alone with her niggling fears and worry.

* * *

An hour later, she was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's surgery, twisting her hands together in her lap. Mrs. Hughes cast her a sympathetic glance, reaching out to pat her arm motherly. The door to Dr. Clarkson's office opened with a harsh sound, and Anna's head snapped up.

"Mrs. Bates?" Dr. Clarkson's eyes twinkled kindly. Anna swallowed hard, glanced at Mrs. Hughes for moral support, and stood on shaky legs.

Dr. Clarkson stood aside as she neared him, allowing her to pass by him into his little examination room. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as he closed the door behind her.

"Take a seat please," said Dr. Clarkson, gesturing to the seat near his desk. Anna did as instructed, her stomach clenching unpleasantly. She didn't understand why she was so nervous – she couldn't explain the constant nausea, but she was certain that nothing was wrong with her and this was simply a waste of time. And yet Mrs. Hughes had planted the seeds of doubt in her mind.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" asked Dr. Clarkson as he took a seat behind his little desk. He steepled his fingers together and regarded her seriously.

"Well, I'm not sure," Anna admitted, feeling foolish. She was bound to be just wasting the doctor's precious time; there was probably someone out there who needed him more than she did. "I've just been feeling out of sorts lately, ever since my father died, and Mrs. Hughes thought it best if I came and consulted you just in case."

"Quite right," the doctor agreed. "Family deaths can be terrible times to have to live through. I imagine that you've been suffering from a lot of stress."

She nodded. "And I'm just feeling more tired than usual and I seem to have some sort of sickness that I just can't shake."

At this, Dr. Clarkson sat up straight, fixing the young woman with a piercing gaze. "Nausea? How many times has this occurred? Can you remember? When did it start?"

Anna frowned at the barrage of questions, attempting to cast her mind back. "It started a couple of months ago. I've not been sick much; maybe a couple of times a week. I thought it might be down to the tiredness. I don't think it's an illness or anything because it hasn't stopped me working."

"No, I don't think it's an illness either," the doctor agreed. He was smiling. Anna wondered why. "Mrs. Bates, may I enquire as to when your last cycle was?"

Anna's frown deepened at this. "Probably when my father died…sometimes, when I'm stressed, they stop for a while. They've done that since I was a girl."

"And what about your temperament?"

She wondered this was going. "I suppose I've been a bit shorter tempered than usual lately," she admitted reluctantly.

"May I examine you further?"

Anna's eyes widened in confusion. "Why? I thought you said you didn't think it was an illness?"

"I did. But I still need to confirm my suspicions. Please, Mrs. Bates. It will only take a few minutes. Go behind the curtain there and lie down."

Casting him a doubtful look, Anna did as she was told. Her heart had begun pounding anew in her chest. She thought she might be sick now. Dr. Clarkson didn't seem worried, though. He was still smiling, still relaxed. It was all so perplexing.

When she was settled, Dr. Clarkson rounded the curtain. He crouched down beside her.

"I need to feel your stomach, Mrs. Bates," he explained. "Is that alright?"

She nodded, but furrowed her brow. "But why…?" And then it hit her, with the clarity of a holy epiphany, as though God had just shone a light down on earth and illuminated the answer for her to see. She gasped sharply, shooting upright. "Dr. Clarkson, you don't think I'm _pregnant_, do you?"

"I do," he confirmed gently. "You seem physically well looking at you, and this is the only explanation I can think of."

"But…but I thought I couldn't get pregnant." Anna was trying desperately to grasp onto the remaining sense of reality that she had. Unfortunately, this was proving difficult.

"Well, evidently your thoughts were wrong," Clarkson answered wryly, and Anna flushed. It had not been an unfeasible thought. She and John had been happily married for two years now since his release from prison. During that time she has lain many times over with him. They'd hoped for a baby every month, but Anna had never had anything to report and in time both had stopped getting their hopes up, content with the knowledge that they were only ever going to be a twosome. John had confided to her one night that perhaps _he_ was the problem; after all, he had never had children with Vera, either (something he would eternally be grateful for given the way that their marriage had ended up). It hadn't mattered to Anna. She wouldn't deny that she'd been looking forward to the day when she could bounce a beautiful little baby on her knee, to being a mother to a child that would be half of her and half of her husband, but she'd wanted John first and foremost; had ached for him for so long. Anything else was a delightful bonus. If it wasn't meant to be, then it wasn't to be.

Now, however, everything had changed.

Anna laid there quietly as the doctor inspected her. Although he hadn't confirmed it yet, she couldn't help but let her dreams take hold. It was a dangerous policy – if it turned out to be a false alarm then she'd be crushed – but it still didn't stop her imagining a fair haired little boy or a dark haired little girl, the perfect marriage of the two of them in one tiny being.

At last Dr. Clarkson looked up. For a moment her heart stopped beating, held in suspension between her throat and her stomach. And then he smiled at her, and she felt tears of relief welling up in her eyes. He didn't need to speak. She knew. She was carrying John's child after all this time.

"Now, everything should run smoothly," he said as he stepped around the curtain to give her the privacy of getting herself presentable again. "But I'd still like to keep an eye on you. It's not unheard of, but it's still more unusual for a woman of your age to be expecting her first child. I want to make sure, as far as possible, that there won't be any complications."

"There shouldn't be, should there?" Anna asked as she emerged from behind the curtain. Her brow was creased with worry.

"I shouldn't imagine so," he reassured her. "I just want to take all the precautions possible. Now, I'd like to see you back in a month's time; I might pay you a call before that just to ensure that you're well. I don't want you to work too hard; it would be advisable for you to leave as soon as they've found a suitable replacement to ensure that you're not putting yourself under any undue stress."

It all seemed so surreal, but Anna nodded anyway.

"Thank you," she said, blinking away the tears which had accumulated behind her eyes.

"Not at all, Mrs. Bates," he replied, showing her to the door. "It's wonderful news, and I'm sure that Mr. Bates will be overjoyed."

_John_. Anna's smile intensified as she tried to imagine his reaction. Yes, he was certain to be overjoyed.

When she stepped into the waiting room, Mrs. Hughes sprang to her feet, hurrying over to her side. Dr. Clarkson nodded at her, then called forward the next patient, and Anna and Mrs. Hughes moved towards the exit, where the sunshine streamed; apt weather to reflect her mood, Anna thought happily.

"So, what did Dr. Clarkson say?" pressed Mrs. Hughes as the two began their journey back to Downton.

Anna mulled over the question for a moment. The housekeeper was regarding her with a mixture of concern and trepidation and Anna wanted to confess all, shout her joyous news from the rooftops. But she also wanted John to be the first to know the news. She didn't think it would matter if she evaded the question until John returned from London. She'd need to tell Mrs. Hughes as soon as possible so that arrangements could be made, but one week where the secret was just hers and John's was too hard to resist.

"He said that I was just overworking myself and I should slow down a bit to relieve some of the stress," she answered decisively. The dazed grin that was plastered across her face didn't exactly complement her words, but Mrs. Hughes didn't push the matter any further. Perhaps she suspected.

The return trip to Downton was made in companiable silence, and Anna lost herself in a world of baby booties and clothes and little toys. At the entrance to the servants' hall, the sounds of the servants' afternoon tea could be heard. Anna smiled broadly to herself. How she would manage to resist throwing herself into her husband's arms and declaring her news at once, she didn't know. Depositing her coat on one of the hooks by the door, she practically flew into the servants' hall. Once inside, however, she stopped short.

"Where's John?" she asked Mr. Carson, who was in the process of helping himself to a scone.

"He asked to be excused from tea today," the butler replied. "He said he had too much work to do and wouldn't be finished if he stopped now."

"Oh," said Anna, disappointed. Glumly, she made her way to her seat and reached for a cup to pour herself some tea. She took a scone, too, but it tasted stale with her disappointment. John had never missed tea. They'd always used the short break in the afternoon as an opportunity to catch up with each other after a morning of not crossing paths. Anna always enjoyed his gentle conversation, the way his hand would drop to her lap to squeeze her knee affectionately. There had been a couple of tense teas over the past few weeks, though, and Anna felt guilty of the way she'd curtly cut him down, but he'd always accepted her apologies. But…perhaps…perhaps today was different. In her elation, she had forgotten about the fact that she'd been irrationally furious at him that morning. Perhaps he was weary of her snapping. Perhaps he hadn't put in an appearance on purpose.

…Perhaps he was avoiding her.

* * *

Her duties consumed her for the rest of the afternoon, and she spent the time in a haze of worry and fear, the elation she'd felt at the joyous news overshadowed by her husband's absence. She took her mending to the servants' hall in hope that she would find him there, completing some mending of his own, but only Lily sat in there. Anna sighed and slumped down in her seat, yanking her needle and thread towards her and beginning to stitch crossly. It was monotonous work, and Lily's silence gave her plenty of time to mull her situation over. She wasn't sure if she was thankful or not for that.

There was a clatter in the hallway and her head jerked up, hoping to hear the familiar tap of his cane. It didn't come, however, and instead she was greeted by the stoic face of Mr. Carson.

"Anna," he said in his usual gruff manner. "Message from Mr. Bates. He says that he's decided to stay here for the night, so you're not to waste time waiting for him after dinner."

"What?" Anna's mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed hard. This was beyond ridiculous. Her heart felt sick in her chest.

"He says that because he's going to London early tomorrow morning, it will be more practical if he spends the night in his old room. That way he doesn't run the risk of being late and he doesn't have to leave your cottage unreasonably early."

"And he expects me to walk home on my own?" Her voice sounded strangled, and she fought to keep her composure, knowing that her safety was one of John's weaknesses. Surely he wouldn't leave her to make her way home in the darkness? Downton was a fairly safe area, but he'd never allowed her to take the risk before.

"No, of course not. He's spoken to his lordship and he has consented to Jones making a stop at your cottage when he's returning after taking the Dowager Countess home. You will ride in the front with him."

"And why hasn't he told me any of this himself?" The world around her was too loud, and she wondered if her quiet voice would be heard in the throng of anger and hurt. She was thankful that only Lily was bearing witness to her humiliation. At least the gossip about her wouldn't travel as fast.

"He's occupied," Carson informed her. "He and his lordship are busy discussing their plans for London."

"How long will that take?" she demanded to know, eyes flashing and colour rising in her cheeks as she sprang to her feet.

"Time cannot be put on such important matters," the butler said, swelling with self-righteousness, as though thinking that a housemaid – even the head one – could never understand such things. Taking her silence as confirmation that the conversation had come to an end, he took his leave to ring the dressing gong.

Torn between wanting to burst into tears and give her husband a jolly good piece of her mind, Anna went about dressing Lady Mary in relative silence, only answering when it was deemed absolutely necessary. Evidently realising that something was wrong, the line of conversation soon petered out, and they spent the remaining time in silence. She could tell that Lady Mary wanted to ask her if she was all right; she was glad that she refrained from doing so. Lady Mary knew that sometimes it was better to steer clear of matters that she knew nothing of.

Anna was determined to catch her husband before dinner, knowing that she had to be on hand in case Mr. Carson required her services, so she finished dressing Lady Mary as quickly as she could before racing towards Lord Grantham's dressing room. She was relieved to hear the voices emanating from within the room; slowing her pace, she loitered a few feet away so that when his lordship exited, he wouldn't think that she was eavesdropping.

The door to the dressing room opened about five minutes later, and Lord Grantham stepped out into the corridor.

"Anna!" he exclaimed when he noticed the young woman. "There's nothing the matter, is there?"

_Well, actually, there is,_ she thought to herself, but shook her head. "No, milord. I just wanted a quick word with Mr. Bates, if that's all right."

"Of course it is," he replied with a smile. "You don't have to ask for my permission to speak to your husband!"

Anna tried to smile as he excused himself for a pre-dinner drink with his family in the drawing room, but it disappeared as she turned back to the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, she crossed over the threshold.

John's back was to her as she loitered in the doorway, organising the cufflinks on the cabinet. She cleared her throat loudly and he jumped before turning around quickly to greet whoever had disturbed him. When he caught sight of her, his face blanched and his expression fell. He looked very much like a puppy that had been kicked. In that instance, her fears were confirmed. He _was_ avoiding her. He _was_ tired of her. And it hurt to know that. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Anna was the one to break it, as was usual in their relationship. Mr. Bates always seemed to lose faith in the face of adversary, and she had always picked up the pieces. She wondered if things had been broken beyond repair today. She felt terrified at the mere thought of it. Still, anger was the overriding emotion in her heart. Was he ever going to fight for her, for them, when things were difficult?

"Were you ever actually going to say goodbye to me yourself?" she asked quietly, deliberately. "Or were you just going to leave it in a message for Thomas or Miss O'Brien to pass on to me?"

The hurt in her voice was evident, and he winced at the sound of it. The cufflinks that he'd been sorting lay forgotten behind him. "I just didn't want things between us to get any worse. I thought that if I gave you some space you'd feel better for when I got home."

"And how would that have stopped things from getting worse?" she demanded to know. "Knowing that my husband has been avoiding me and doesn't even want to spend his last evening before going to London at home with me…yes, that certainly makes me feel so much better! I'm sure I would've been so overjoyed when you returned, mulling that one over all week!"

"I just thought that you were so angry with me this morning that you'd prefer it that way," he replied softly. "And when you took Mrs. Hughes on your errands with you rather than coming to fetch me, I thought you were glad that I was leaving you alone, that you didn't _want_ to see me."

Anna's laugh sounded hysterical even to her own ears. "It was Mrs. Hughes' idea to run the errands, not mine! And we only did that because she talked me into visiting Dr. Clarkson!"

John paled even further at her outburst. "Dr. Clarkson? Anna, why would you need to see him?"

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously. "Oh, don't worry, you needn't start feeling guilty!"

He'd strode across the room in two seconds, panic making his grip on her upper arm rough. She could read the fear in his eyes. "Dammit, Anna, you have to tell me what's wrong!" His voice quivered as he brought his other hand up to cup her face. His fingers trembled against her skin. "Please, Anna. Please don't scare me like this. I love you. If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't be able to bear it."

She pulled away from him, unable to stand the look on his face. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Enjoy London, John." And then before he could utter another word or even try to begin to comprehend what had just happened, she fled from the room, choking back a sob. Anna May Bates never cried. He could count on one hand the number of times when she had broken down: on the night when he had broken her heart and returned to Vera; on the day when he had been sentenced to death in that terrible courtroom; on what they'd both thought was the last day that they'd ever see each other; in the days following her father's death. Most of those times had been because of him. And this time was because of him too. Here he was, with only the intention of ensuring Anna's happiness, but all he seemed to do was bring her pain.

Just what had he done to her?

And, more importantly, could he fix her again?

* * *

He made his way downstairs as quickly as he could, cursing his leg for hindering his progress. At the top of the stairs he was waylaid by an irate Carson, who spent almost five minutes complaining about the standard of footmen. By the time John had managed to shake him off and clatter down to the servants' hall, Anna was nowhere in sight.

"Have you seen Anna?" he asked Mrs. Hughes, who was supervising the hall boys as they set the table for dinner, feeling desperate enough to ask for help.

The housekeeper raised her eyebrows. "She was here a few minutes ago; she asked if she could go home now because she didn't feel well. I should have told you earlier, but I thought I was doing the right thing, refraining from telling you, but we went to go and see Dr. Clarkson earlier. Apparently he assured Anna that she was perfectly well, but I'm still worried about her, especially now. I told her that I'd see to Lady Mary for her so she could go home. Didn't she tell you where she was going, Mr. Bates?"

He forced a smile. "Of course she did. I was just wondering if she'd already gone; I don't like her walking home on her own."

"I'm sure she'll be all right," she smiled at him. "Aren't you staying here for the night anyway?"

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "I was. But I think perhaps I might go home after all. It would put my mind more at ease knowing that she was okay."

_I have to fix this._

Mrs. Hughes nodded understandingly. "Of course. See to his lordship after dinner and then get off. I'm sure Anna will appreciate it."

John's smile was strained as he turned away. It would look too suspicious if he insisted on going home now. It would be better to wait until he'd finished his tasks.

He just hoped it wouldn't be too late then.

* * *

Even though he'd left the house as soon as it had been deemed humanely possible, it was still past eleven when John quietly unlocked the front door to their cottage. It was plunged in darkness, and he moved carefully up the stairs, leaving his jacket next to Anna's coat on the hooks by the door. At the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come.

At the bedroom door, he paused. Anna was lying curled up on her side of the bed, the moonlight from the chink in the curtains illuminating half of her face. She looked so small and vulnerable. He was sure he could detect tearstains on her cheeks. Tears of his own threatened to overwhelm him. He hated seeing her like that. He hated being the cause of her pain. Why hadn't he tried harder these last couple of months?

Gently, he settled himself on the edge of the bed, shrugging his braces from his shoulders and kicking off his shoes and socks. Then he slipped out of his trousers, reaching for the pyjamas that were strewn over the little chair in the corner. Once he was dressed again, he slid into bed beside his wife and reached tentatively out for her, shivering as the coldness of the sheets seeped into his bones. His fingertips brushed against her, and he realised with a lump in his throat that she'd gone to bed in a dressing gown to combat the cold. Self-loathing rose within him. He should have been there to wrap her in his arms and keep the cold at bay.

She sighed in her sleep as he wrapped his arms firmly around her middle and settled resolutely against her back, and he stroked his hands softly up and down hers, which were hugging her stomach. For a moment he simply drank in the feel of her body in his arms, the smell of her hair against his nose. He was loathe to disturb her now that she had found some respite, but he knew that it would be unforgivable if he went off to London without putting matters between them right first. Anna would accept it, he knew, would never mention it again if he didn't, but he knew that he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't try to fix this.

With that, he began to lay kisses against her neck, pulling her dressing gown down so that he had access to the pale flesh underneath, feather-like touches in the places that he'd learnt with experimentation that she loved the most. She stirred underneath his touch, humming lightly in appreciation as she stretched out her coiled limbs, only to stiffen cautiously as she realised that John was in bed beside her. Confidence dashed now that she was awake, he settled for dropping his mouth next to her ear and squeezing her tightly.

"I know you're angry with me," he whispered, "I know you have every right to be. But I love you, Anna, I love you more than anything in this world and I would do anything to put this mess right. I've never been any good with words when it comes to articulating my thoughts and feelings but please, give me the chance to show you how sorry I am for everything."

For a moment he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. She remained still for a moment, before wriggling out of his embrace; however, his heart barely had time to stop before she'd rolled over and thrown her arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against him. His own arms wrapped themselves tightly around her back, pressing her as firmly against him as he could. He continued to whisper apologies to her as he rested his chin atop her head, lips ghosting across her hair. He could feel her trembling against him, but when she finally pulled back to gaze into his face, he noticed that her cheeks were dry.

_Perhaps she's cried all the tears that she can,_ he thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry too," she breathed. "I should never have said the things that I did. I know I've been a complete nightmare to live with over the last couple of months and I've coped with everything so wrong. I should never have taken my bad moods out on you because you're the one person I love more than anything else and I don't want to treat you so badly, not after everything we've gone through to be together like this. It wouldn't surprise me if it made you contemplate just leaving."

"Never!" he overrode vehemently, tightening his grip on her. "I would _never_ leave you, Anna!"

Anna still seemed unconvinced, lowering her eyes from his face. "But you must see Vera whenever you look at me now…"

John cursed himself for his earlier thoughts as they came back to haunt him. "There is no comparison. You at your worst is still a million times better than Vera at her best. And how can I possibly blame you? The things you've gone through for me! You stood by me when I couldn't be open with you, you were prepared to throw your honour away so that we could be together, and you stayed so strong while I was in prison. I would be lost without you, Anna. If you left my life, I don't know what I'd do. The only person I see when I look at you is _you_. If anyone should grow tired and leave, it should be you. You've put up with so much and I wouldn't blame you if you found someone who could give you more than I can offer you."

The first tears began to slide down her cheeks as she listened to him speak. "Don't," she said softly, voice tremulous. "Don't say that."

He brushed her tears away, his own threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, Anna. I am."

"We've both done things we're sorry for," she replied softly. "So please, let's leave it there. Let's put it behind us."

He nodded against her hair, lying there quietly as she stroked her fingers down his chest. Silence reigned for a moment before he spoke again, fearful of her reply.

"You said you went to see Dr. Clarkson," he said tentatively, easing back slightly so that he could see into her face. "Will you tell me about it now?"

She stared at him, a mixture of guilt and contentment on her face at his words. "I shouldn't have told you like that."

"You certainly worried me when you wouldn't say anything more about it," he agreed gently, his eyes anxiously searching hers. "There's nothing seriously wrong, is there?"

Anna shook her head, taking his hand in hers. "No."

"So why did you go?" he asked in confusion as she began to drag his fingers down her front. He shivered at the contact.

"It was Mrs. Hughes' idea, like I told you," she whispered. "She said that you'd spoken to her, told her that you were worried about me. She told me that we'd go together and then if there was nothing to worry about then I wouldn't need to mention it to you."

He stopped his hand just below her ribcage, cold fear freezing his movements. "So why are you telling me now?"

"Because it's going to change our lives," she said quietly.

"How?" His heart reluctantly began to speed up in his chest. "Anna…?"

She forced his hand to move again, stopping only when it was cradled against the flat of her stomach. Evidently he had not taken the hint, because he still looked terrified. She couldn't bear to see the tortured look on his face for a second longer, so she laid her hand on top of his and whispered, "he told me I'm pregnant, John. The little one is part of the reason I've been so moody lately. You're going to have to get used to me being volatile and just know that it's not you that I'm angry with, and –"

"Pregnant?" he interrupted her then. "Oh, Anna!" He lost the power of speech again then, but she could tell by the tears in his eyes and the trembling smile on his lips that he was happy. Her own lips quirked upwards to answer his. "This is the most wonderful news I've received since being told that I was getting out of prison!"

She giggled weakly, his happiness infectious, and the final piece of awkwardness between them dissolved. He dipped his head to kiss her, his hand strong on her naval, and she sighed in response to the feel of his lips on hers. Presently they broke apart, and John lowered his head to rest it against hers.

"I never thought that this day would come," he said, and she could detect the emotions in his voice. "I know it's something that you've always wanted, and I'm glad that I could give it to you."

"If it hadn't, though, I would have been perfectly happy with just you," she was quick to reassure him, caressing the fingers on her belly.

His gaze turned wistful. "How am I going to leave you now for the week when I know you'll be here with our child? It was hard enough knowing that I was leaving _you_."

"Of course you'll leave us," she told him firmly. "His lordship needs you. You've got to do what's required of you."

"But you'll be alone."

"I'll be moving into my old room for the week up at the big house, like we agreed. There will be plenty of people around and I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will keep an eye on me."

"Does she know, then?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't think she believed me when I said that everything was normal, but I wanted you to be the first to know. I won't mention it to anyone else until you're back from London, so we can tell people together."

John's fingers traced patterns through her dressing gown, his tone wistful. "I won't rest easy knowing that I'm not going to be here for you."

"I don't like the thought of being away from you, either," Anna admitted. "I know it's silly of me, but ever since your prison sentence…"

"I know," he shushed her then, shifting so that he could cup her face between his palms. Gently, he kissed her, and she deepened it immediately, clutching his shirt in her hands, hooking her leg over his so that she could roll him onto his back.

"Anna…can we…?" John gasped as she squeezed him with her thighs and bent down to smother his face in kisses that were softer than a butterfly's wings.

"Of course we can," she answered between kisses, threading the buttons on his nightshirt through the loopholes.

"It won't…hurt…the baby?" How he could concentrate on forming a cohesive sentence when her hands were sliding his shirt from his shoulders, he couldn't answer.

"Dr. Clarkson would have mentioned it if it would," she breathed in reply, nipping at his ear as she positioned herself above him and began to rock her hips against him, the material of his bottoms and her undergarments the only things keeping them separate. He gave himself over to trust then, slipping his hand underneath her nightgown so that he could graze his fingers against the skin of her waist, and she continued to rock against him until she felt the stirrings of his response against her. His breathing was harsher as she began to work him, snaking a hand between their bodies so she could rub him with nimble fingers and a confidence born out of years of learning him. She knew he was ready when he groaned aloud, and she smiled in satisfaction as she rose from his body long enough to allow him to wriggle out of his bottoms. Using this time, she shrugged her dressing gown off and slid her nightgown up over her head, shivering as the cold bit into her skin. She ridded herself of her undergarments with practised ease, throwing them blindly into the darkness as she wrapped herself round her husband again.

John's hands were on her in a second, chasing the cold from limbs as he sought out the places which affected her the most. She whimpered in response, clinging sightlessly to him as he readied her for what was to come.

All too soon, she shifted her body and sank down on to him, their mutual sounds of pleasure harmonising as she set up a steady rhythm for the two of them to rock to. Her hands anchored themselves to his shoulders as she rolled her hips to his, her blue eyes locking with his dark ones and delighting in watching the wave of emotions flicker across his features.

"Oh, Anna," he whimpered as she bent in to kiss him, and she soothed him with her lips on his cheeks. She could tell in the way that his limbs were tightening with pressure that he was close to his end already, days of pent up emotion unleashed in the most beautiful of actions. Heartened by this, Anna put every effort she had into grinding her hips hard against his. His head lolled back uselessly as he moaned his appreciation, his hands gripping at her hips as though she was his lifeline.

"Anna," he gasped ardently, moving his right hand inward so that he could caress her in the place which always had her crying out with trembling fingers.

"No," she breathed in reply, one of her hands leaving the anchor of his shoulder to grab at his wrist. "Don't."

"But why not?" he panted, feelings hurt despite the pleasure flaring out of every part of his body. "Anna, you have to let me – I can't hold on much longer…"

"Good," she breathed, twining their fingers together and leaning down to pepper kisses against his jawline. She bit his earlobe for good measure, then raised his hand until it closed over the softness of her breast, the hard nipple straining for attention, a heady juxtaposition…and he was lost, his hips bucking desperately into hers her name an unintelligible cry as it lost itself within his moan of pleasure. Anna kept rotating her hips against his, keeping his erratic thrusts steady, until they slowed then petered out completely, leaving him fighting for breath, lethargic and sated. She bent in to kiss him sweetly, sliding from his hips and moulding herself against his left side.

Presently, he'd recovered his senses enough to roll on his side to face her. His fingers trailed across her delicate cheekbones, tucking errant blonde hair behind her ears.

"You didn't finish," he stated softly. He blushed a little, shy now that their lovemaking was over.

She lowered her eyes. "I didn't want to get distracted. I wanted to make sure that I pleased you."

John wasn't sure whether to grin in bemusement at her selflessness or be hurt that she felt that she had to see to his pleasure and not take her own. "Anna, you know that I would never ask that of you. I want it to be as enjoyable for you as it is for me."

"Well, I wanted to say sorry to you."

Silence for a moment.

"Then can I say sorry to you, too?"

"What?"

He shifted so that he was on all fours over her, wincing as his knee protested. "I've done some unforgivable things over the last couple of months as well. Let me make love to you. Let me make you feel as good as you make me feel."

"You don't have to," she protested weakly as he began to kiss her neck gently, his fingers moving to graze the sides of her breasts.

"I don't have to," he conceded. "But I want to. And you must've been close yourself earlier. It wouldn't be fair to leave you unsatisfied. Let me ease the ache."

Anna found that she could not protest when his mouth followed the path of his fingers, kissing and worshipping her pale skin with his lips, teeth and tongue, wreaking havoc on her breasts…moving lower to her naval…teasing the top of her thighs…moving in to –

_Oh, my._

She groaned loudly, and John smiled against her heat. Full of nervous energy, she allowed her hands to sweep through his hair, pressing her thighs against his ears. Although she had never admitted it out loud (and never would, due to the fact that it made her irrationally feel like a wanton creature), John seemed to know that she loved this particular brand of lovemaking very much. She had been mortified the first time that he had slid between her legs like this, wondering why he'd ever want to touch her in such a place in such a way, but he had encouraged her to relax with loving words and deft touches. When he had lowered his mouth to her again, he had shown her a world of pleasure that she had never even dreamed of. It was the intimacy that did it, she supposed hazily; having his mouth touching such a private part of her body. It illustrated the amount of trust that existed between them; the fact that he was willing to do that for her when it brought him no relief of his own, and the fact that she was prepared to let him touch her in such an unconventional way when she knew the sneers that would dog her if it ever got out.

"We can do what we like as man and wife behind closed doors," he'd breathed into her heated skin that first time, and she'd known that he was right. How could any expression of their love for each other be wrong? Especially when it felt so good?

Now, Anna arched her hips against her husband's tongue, gasping incoherent words of encouragement and satisfaction as he moved across her. If this was John Bates' idea of getting back in her good books, then it was certainly working.

* * *

"You know," John commented lazily as he propped his chin on her thigh afterwards, smirking in satisfaction as she panted for breath, her body lax after such an onslaught of pleasure, "I do believe you've forgotten what day it is today."

She opened one eye to peer down at him languidly, sighing as he kissed her knee. "You were good, Mr. Bates, but you weren't good enough to make me forget the days of the week. It's Wednesday."

His smirk broadened as he wriggled from between her legs so that he could flop onto his side of the bed and gather her up in his arms. "So you _have_ forgotten what day it is! I should be hurt by that."

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion as she found the energy to snuggle against him.

"Well," he said, kissing her briefly, "today is our wedding anniversary. Well, technically," he squinted at the clock, "it was yesterday…"

"What!?" she exclaimed, shooting backwards in horror as his words registered. "You're teasing me!"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, love."

She truly looked devastated. "I'm so sorry, John! Oh, what a terrible anniversary it was!"

"It wasn't completely bad," he said lightly, stroking a hand down the outside of her thigh. "And we found out about the baby. Go to sleep now. Otherwise you'll have no energy for the rest of tomorrow."

She nodded against him, seemingly reassured by his answer, and tucked her head under his chin.

"We can exchange gifts when I come back from London," he continued to muse into the quiet. "That'll give us both something to look forward to."

"John?" Anna's voice was muffled.

"Yes?" he answered at once.

"You've just told me to go to sleep. Only I can't, because you're still talking. I love you, but be quiet."

He grinned into the darkness, glad that his old Anna was back.

"Sorry, love. I was just thinking about how the baby is a perfect anniversary present for the both of us…"

"John."

He quietened at once, and soon the sound of each other's breathing had lulled them to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Anna stood at the front door still dressed in her night things, her shawl drawn around her shoulders to keep propriety content. John stood in front of her, dressed impeccably for work, valise by his feet.

Anna stepped into his arms when he opened them for her. "I'll miss you this week."

He dropped a kiss into her hair, holding her tight to him. "I'll miss you too. Both of you."

"We'll be right here waiting," Anna said, voice muffled by his jacket. "Hurry home safely."

He nodded, then pulled her head back so he could drop a kiss onto her mouth. "Look after yourself."

"I will. Don't worry."

He grinned, eyes twinkling. She couldn't remember the last time he had looked to free and relaxed. "Well, you know I'll do nothing but worry. But I promise that I won't get myself into a panicked state."

"Good," she smiled, then reluctantly disentangled herself from his arms. "Now go on, get going. You'll be late if you don't."

"If the train left without me then I wouldn't have to go," he murmured.

"And then his lordship would be annoyed with you. I know how despondently you'd take that."

John chuckled, then pulled her into his arms for a final embrace. "Fine, I'm going." He dropped his hand to her stomach, stroked his fingers over it. "Bye, baby. Be good to your mum."

Anna giggled, capturing his lips quickly before stepping back. John tipped his hat to her, picked up his valise, and turned away. She watched him amble down the path away from her. Her heart warred with the powerful emotions of sadness and joy. She hated to see him leaving her. She knew she would be immeasurably lonely for the rest of the week, even when she was surrounded by the people at the big house. And yet he hadn't left her alone; he'd left her with the gift of their child to keep her company on the long nights when he wasn't slumbering by her side. She also took some solace in the fact that he'd miss her just as acutely as she would him.

At the gate, he turned and offered her one last wave. She returned the gesture, feeling her lips tug upwards in a smile.

It hadn't been a conventional anniversary at all. She doubted that many spent their time in such a ditch of miscommunication on such a joyous day. They still had a way to go to fix things between them. And yet Anna knew she would remember it for the rest of her days, because it had ultimately brought them closer together.

She thanked the baby for that.

* * *

**A/N:** And thus ends this installment. The final chapter is written on paper, so when I get back from my holidays I'll be able to type it up, edit it and post it. Hopefully it'll be around for the beginning of August. :)


	5. 1924

**A/N:** And here we are, finally at the last chapter! It's been a long time coming, so it's a relief to get this out of the way.

As always, your thoughts are welcome. :)

* * *

_5. 1924_

He heard the discontented whimper from the cot as he shifted onto his back to relieve some of the pain in his right knee. Groaning a little as he levered himself up on his elbows, he peered through the darkness at the little cot situated on Anna's side of the bed. By now, that sound had become one of the most natural and memorable noises in John's life: their little man was getting ready to wail for his feed. Glancing down at his wife, sleeping peacefully by his side, he slid out of bed and padded round to the cot. Anna did not stir, even when he stubbed his toe on the end of their bed in the darkness and hissed an expletive, obviously worn out from trying to keep up with their little boy's demands. On top of his usual complaints, he had just started to teeth. His ear-splitting wails over his discomfort were enough to exhaust even the most experienced of mothers.

Shushing him softly, John carefully picked his son up and held him to his chest, gently rocking him in his arms as he grew accustomed to the shift in his surroundings. Mindful that he could begin to cry at any moment, John quickly slipped out of the bedroom, gritting his teeth against the pain in his knee as his stiff muscles protested against the movement without the aid of his cane. He moved into the kitchen, squinting in the dark as he attempted to balance his boy in one arm and open the cupboard door with the other. His little lad whimpered again in discontentment, tugging rather painfully on his mussed hair, signalling his impatience, and John cursed quietly under his breath as he pulled out the baby bottle that had been presented to them up at the big house by the servants, alongside various toys and baby clothes. John had decided that it should be used on the nights when Anna was just too tired to drag herself out of bed to tend to their son naturally; on those nights, he himself would see to their boy, he'd declared enthusiastically. It hadn't really worked like that, though; Anna usually couldn't bear to listen to their son's muffled wailing while John hurried about downstairs attempting to warm milk in a pan, and usually she'd come downstairs to wearily tell him not to bother, already moving to the table where he'd been laid, ready to nurse him.

But tonight he was determined that Anna should get a full night's sleep. He couldn't remember the last time she had slept properly. He had had years to grow accustomed to not sleeping much, what with his years in Africa, his years in prison and his injured knee, but Anna had always enjoyed staying in bed. During the couple of days that they'd been allowed to share off together just after his release from prison three years ago, she'd slumbered well past eight o' clock, and he had lain beside her quietly, tracing his eyes over her perfect form and enjoying the novel feeling of her naked skin pressed deliciously against his; now, she was looking tired and drawn from retiring late, fitful nights of sleep and early starts. He had done everything he could to ease the burden, but it was difficult for him to pitch in as much as he wanted to due to him being needed up at the big house most hours of the day; sometimes, when he was returning to their home at almost one in the morning, all he wanted to do was collapse into bed and _sleep_. On his half-days, he tried to insist that Anna take the time off to catch up on her sleep and leave him to look after their boy, but she always refused, stating that they didn't see enough of each other as it was, so most of his free afternoons found them taking walks around the village with their son, or else simply spending a lazy few hours together at home, sometimes reading quietly, sometimes curled up on the little couch together, passing time with conversation, sometimes catching up on odd jobs, like weeding the garden, while their son slept in his crib, or else watched them with wide-eyed wonder from his pushchair. These indulgences were taking their toll on Anna now, though.

John opened the cool storage and found the little carton of milk that he'd put aside earlier. Gently hitching his son more firmly against his shoulder, he retrieved the carton and set about prising it open – a feat he was proud to achieve one-handed. He was just about to pour it into the pan to warm when he heard a noise behind him and then the unexpected sound of his wife's voice.

"Jesus, Anna," he said as he turned towards her. "You startled me."

"Scared of the dark?" she teased, moving forward to flick on a switch. Light flooded the room at once, forcing him to squint until he'd grown accustomed to it. Still, electricity made life much easier, and he was grateful that Lord Grantham had had it installed.

"You should be in bed," he told her gently.

"I can't sleep when you're not there," she replied, tucking her shawl more securely around her shoulders.

"You looked content enough when I left you."

She sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her forehead against his back. "I woke as soon as you got out of bed, actually. I'm not used to sleeping alone anymore." She inhaled his scent deeply, muffling her words against his back. "What's wrong with Jack?"

"Just hungry, I think. His teeth don't seem to be bothering him at the moment, but I don't want to chance setting them off by giving him anything solid. So I thought milk would do for the night. Go back upstairs. I'll follow you up just as soon as I've seen to him."

Anna shook her head, pressing a kiss against his shoulder blade before nudging him to face her. "Give him here, I'll sort him out. You're just as tired as I am."

"I opened the milk especially for him," John pouted in mock regret, and Anna giggled as he passed their son over.

"Have a cup of tea, then, if you don't want it to go to waste," she told him with a cheeky grin as she set Jack to feed. "I know it's pained you to cut down on your tea consumption these last few months."

"Not to mention that tea is one of my saving graces, beside you," he said, and dipped his head to kiss her before moving towards the sink to fill the kettle, and she laughed again. "Do you want one?"

"Why not?" she sighed, sinking down into a chair by the table, jostling Jack gently as she watched John's progress around the kitchen.

Peaceful silence reigned while he set about his work, broken only when he slid a cup of tea towards her, exactly how she liked it, with that sneaky slip of extra sugar.

"Thank you," she said quietly. This time, her smile was tired.

"If he's finished feeding, I'll hold him for a bit," he said equally softly, and she nodded gratefully.

Jack whimpered a little at being disturbed again, but soon settled down in his father's secure arms. Anna watched the way that John cradled their son, silently marvelling at how perfect they looked together. She had known it since the first time that she had seen her boy, barely a few minutes old: he was the absolute image of his father. It was all in the shape of his eyes, the shape of his nose, the shape of his lips. Jack had even inherited his father's dark hair. Oh, he'd inherited aspects of her character, it was true. His eyes were the same light blue rather than John's dark brown. His skin was pale – she knew he would burn easily in the sun, just like her. But in that moment after his birth, she'd known that there was only one name for him.

John. John, after the man who had helped to bring him into this world, who had passed on so much of himself to the little boy, who had given her life so much meaning and joy since he had entered it more than a decade ago. She was in no doubt that their boy would grow up to be just as noble, trustworthy and esteemed as his father. Under their gentle guidance, she was certain he'd be a fine young man in time.

John had protested when she'd broached the topic of the chosen name with him, of course.

"Haven't you had enough with just one John Bates in your life?" he'd said. She'd detected a hint of cynicism and self-loathing in his tone. "Shouldn't this child be named after someone more worthy of the honour?"

"How can someone be more worthy of the honour?" she'd shot back. "You're his father. He wouldn't be here without you. And if this is about your past sins…well, I think you've more than repented for them now. It's time to let them go, John, and start believing that you deserve this happiness. Our son is going to be a John Bates, so you should start getting used to it now."

He'd been a bit indignant at that, but she'd stood her ground, and when she'd reminded him that _she'd_ been the one to endure hours of agonising labour to bring him into the world and therefore she was entitled to name him, he had relented, on the condition that he'd be their little Jack so that he'd at least be able to differentiate between who she was addressing when she was talking to them and that he'd be able to choose the middle name. She'd accepted this, simply because she'd wanted him to be at least a little satisfied with the name – and he _had_ helped to give her this perfect gift. He'd chosen William in the end, in memory of the young lad he had always liked and looked out for, who had not lived to have a family of his own. It had been a sombre moment.

Still, John William Bates had a nice ring to it.

Not long before little Jack's birth, on darker nights when the demons found it easier to prey on her insecurities, while her husband slumbered peacefully by her side in one of his rare, restful nights, she'd lain there wide awake, wondering what sort of father John would be. She'd been in no doubt that he would be loving and caring, but she worried that he'd think himself too old for the finer points of fatherhood, that she'd be left to raise their child almost alone beyond the cursory involvement. John had never mentioned any of these things to her, of course, but he was over fifty now, and it was a strange age to be beginning fatherhood. She'd worried that Jack's arrival might, in fact, make things worse for him. Perhaps it would throw his insecurities into an even harsher light – there were things that his age and infirmity would prevent him from teaching his son, after all. Her worries were completely unfounded, of course. John was as involved in Jack's life as she could have wished for. He always got up with her when she was feeding him, no matter what time it was, he took him off her hands when she was struggling to get the housework done, and he'd even shown great enthusiasm when he'd learned how to change his son. He'd spend hours limping around the room without the aid of his cane so that he could cradle him securely in his arms (and she knew that he paid for that later from the way that his movements were stiff and agonisingly slow) and he liked to read to him, a book in one hand, Jack propped securely against him while his father spoke in a soft rumble, even though he was only babbling incoherent sounds and certainly wouldn't be able to understand a word that was being said to him.

"A lot of things have happened in my life to put things in perspective for me," he'd told her enigmatically when she'd mentioned how much she loved seeing them together. It was as much as he'd ever say on the subject, and Anna never pressed.

Back in the present, she glanced at the clock with tired eyes. Half past three.

"Come on, let's go back to bed," she whispered, aware of the fact that John had to get up for work in two hours and that Jack had settled quietly against his father's shoulder, sleeping at last. John nodded in reply, cautiously rising to his feet, biting back a wince as his knee protested. Anna knew better than to offer assistance as they switched off the light and quietly made their way through the little house. She watched his clumsy journey up the stairs, wishing for the millionth time that she could help to ease the pain he suffered daily.

At last they reached their bedroom again, and Anna slid wearily between the sheets, watching as John carefully lowered Jack gently into his crib. Then he rounded the bed and slipped in beside her, snaking his arms around her waist and burying his head in the side of her neck. She could feel the weariness coming off him in waves. His head was heavy.

"We really should move him into the other room," he mused tiredly, the words muffled by her skin.

"I know," she murmured, pressing herself as far into his arms as possible. "But I don't like the thought of him being all alone in there."

John chuckled. "He's going to have to move at some point. He needs to learn to sleep through the night. And we need to start feeling comfortable in our own room again."

Now it was Anna's turn to giggle, knowing what he was alluding to. It had taken them four months after Jack's birth for them to finally give in to their desires, which had been persistently demanding for a good few weeks before then; however, both of them had felt awkward making love while their son was lying asleep in the corner of the room, and their ardour had been cooled significantly when they'd heard the protesting whimpers from the cot barely a few minutes into their foreplay. It had felt wrong to continue on when they knew that he was awake, and both had gone to sleep that night snappish and irritable. The infrequent subsequent times after that had always happened while Jack was taking a nap downstairs – although even those were dampened by the fact that they were both expecting to hear a disgruntled wail from Jack demanding his feed. In fact, it had been an absolute blessing when Mrs. Hughes had offered to take care of Jack on her half-day a couple of weeks ago so that Anna might catch up on a few chores that she had been behind on, or whatever else the young woman needed to get done (Mrs. Hughes' words, not hers, stated with a twinkle in her eye). John had ensured that he had finished his duties early (and rather shoddily, it had to be said, but he'd supposed that no one would blame him if they'd known that his wife was probably lying naked on their bed right then) so that he could also sneak home – the following few hours had been absolute bliss, an outlet that they had both been desperately needing. Both had suspected that Mrs. Hughes had known that John would mysteriously go missing, and this had been confirmed when she had innocently commented later on that evening that it was kind of him to carry her out her errands in the village. Any rumours that might have been circulating about Mr. Bates' convenient disappearance soon died down. Anna and John were forever in the housekeeper's debt because of that, though they suspected that it was for at least partly selfish reasons that Mrs. Hughes had offered to look after little Jack – it was clear that the housekeeper doted on the baby, treating him as though he was her grandson. John and Anna weren't about to complain, especially if it was to give them an afternoon of undisturbed lovemaking to look forward to perhaps once a month. Still, Anna knew that it was time to move Jack into his own room. He was six months old now, old enough to be away from his parents' bedside. Perhaps then they'd be able to make love whenever the need overtook them, instead of quelling it until they had an off-chance afternoon alone.

"We'll do it today," she said into the darkness.

"What?" John's voice was sleepy. Clearly he'd been on the verge of slumber when she'd spoken.

"Jack can move into the spare room tonight."

It took the words a few moments to register, but she felt him shift against her. "What?" He sounded a bit more alert now.

"You must have heard me that time," she teased, smiling widely.

He dug his fingers into her side playfully. "You know what I mean."

She wriggled in his arms to face him, lips finding his briefly in the darkness. "Yes, I do. Now go to sleep. You know what day today is."

"Our anniversary," he murmured dutifully, moving to kiss the shell of her ear. "I'm not going to forget that."

"I might ask Mrs. Hughes if she'd mind watching Jack for a couple of hours this evening."

He was definitely awake now. "And why would you need to do that, pray tell?"

Her fingers traced their way down the front of his pyjama top. She resisted the urge to slip them down the tantalising opening at the neck, where the beginning of his chest hair peeked through. "Maybe because we're going to be going out for a lovely meal to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary," she said mischievously.

"And are we?" John's breath hitched as she gave in to the temptation of feeling the coarse hairs between her fingers.

The impish grin widened. "Well, Mrs. Hughes doesn't need to know that our romantic meal can be brought up and consumed in this very bed, does she?"

He bit his lip to stifle his whimper. "Oh God, Anna."

"Sleep," she commanded, though she was feeling the effects of her words just as keenly as he was. "I don't want you tired later on. I'm fully expecting you to use our time together wisely while Jack is away, and I'm certainly expecting you to keep me awake all night to make up for lost time when Jack is put in the spare room."

He groaned against her skin. "How do you expect me to sleep now when you've filled my head with such thoughts?"

Anna smirked, tucking her head beneath his chin. "You'll sleep if you don't want to be a disappointment to me later." Although the thought of keeping him awake now and to hell with the baby boy in the room was extremely tempting. She was sure she could deal with having barely any sleep if she'd been thoroughly satisfied.

John chuckled. "You really are a naughty girl."

Heat flamed within her. It had been their private joke for years. She loved to hear those words escape from his lips.

"Goodnight, John," she said with an air of mock finality, and he grinned over her head.

"Goodnight, love," he replied, letting his eyes drift closed.

Anna listened as her husband's breathing evened and eventually deepened, warm and comfortable in his embrace. She had never known such contentment could exist; this peace which permeated her life had been something that she had only dreamed of a few years ago with a fevered kind of desperation, certain that they were doomed to unhappiness, a dream that had seemed almost foolish when her husband had been on trial for his life and she had been alone in a cold room with a hope had that deserted her in the darkness. Even now, years on, she could barely believe that they'd been blessed with such good fortune. She and John were able to sleep tangled together every night, and they had even been graced with a family of their own. Little Jack had entered the world in one of the easiest first births ever known, according to the midwife (and she shuddered to think what a difficult first birth was like), and he had served to bring his parents even closer than they already were. Anna finally felt complete in a way that she never had done before. They had a modest life; the most exciting thing that ever happened was gossiping about if the next door neighbours were contemplating moving away, or else discussing the goings on at Downton Abbey, but she supposed that they'd had enough excitement in the last twelve years to last them a lifetime. There was nothing she loved more than waking up to the dawn of another simple day with her husband by her side.

Of course, the last five years had not been easy. Adjusting to a normal married life after the turmoil of his imprisonment had been hard, but they'd thankfully emerged from the darkness stronger. And then, of course, there were the arguments that littered their relationship. They weren't common occurrences due to the way that they naturally got on with each other, but of course there were things that irritated each of them respectively. She grew tired of his habit of leaving his clothes anywhere when he'd decided that they were dirty; he could never understand her obsessive system of ensuring that his clothes were stacked in a specific order, especially since he'd usually leave them in an order more suitable for him, only to return to find it changed – there had been countless frantic mornings where he'd been running late and missing a precious sock and he'd cursed her silently as he threw the contents of his wardrobe over his shoulder in search of the elusive item. She liked to talk in the afterglow of their lovemaking, with the sheets flung from their bodies and the sweat drying in the cool breeze from the open window, and couldn't comprehend that he didn't want to spend the time between the realm of waking and sleeping whispering sweet nothings and planning their future; he liked nothing better than to savour the sound of his wife's breath in his ear and her warm limbs wrapped around his body while they both slipped nearer and nearer to the welcoming arms of sleep, and was unable to fathom why she would want to spoil such a perfect moment with needless words. Anna liked to stay in bed for as long as possible and grew irritated with John's habit of shifting restlessly and waking her up when he rose for work; John, in turn, couldn't see how, especially after years of being trained to rise at six, she could possibly want to stay in bed and while the morning away.

(Occasionally, however, she tempted him to change his view by keeping him between the bed sheets until he was past late for work, her sirenesque charms too hard to resist.)

These bumps in their relationship only made them love each other more. Anna was reminded every day of how close she'd come to losing her husband; because of this, she had learned to embrace every part of his person, even the more disagreeable traits, like his huge sense of honour. She vowed that she would never take him for granted or neglect him in any way again. Life was too short and uncertain for that.

Now, she sighed contentedly in his arms, hooking her leg over his, drawing them as close together as possible. John mumbled something incomprehensible as he moved closer to her, his breath ghosting across her cheek. She bent in to kiss him once more, mindful of disturbing him, then ducked her head under his chin, closing her eyes, waiting to be lulled to sleep with the sound of her husband's breathing, the warmth of his body, his comfortable weight.

The first five years of their marriage hadn't been easy, but Anna wouldn't change them for the world. Every mishap, every struggle, had led them to where they were now. Every tear, every agonising bit of heartbreak had been worth it, because it made their happy memories even more precious.

Anna hoped that there would be many long, happy years of marriage to come.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this throughout its course; it is much appreciated. :D

I'll now be moving back to _Made to be Broken_. Expect the second chapter in about a week's time.


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